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 Author:                                          Alan Dean Foster

 Title:                                               The False Mirror

 Series:                                             Book 2, The Damned

 Series No:                      

 Original copyright year:                1992

 Genre:                                             Science Fiction

 Date of e-text:                04/29/2001

 Prepared by:

 Last Revised:                                   / /

 Revised by:

 Version:                                          1.0

 Comments:                           Please correct any errors you find in this

 e-text,

                    update the txt file’s version number and redistribute.

 ***************************************************

 By Alan Dean Foster : Published by Ballantine Books:

 The Icenggger Trilogy

         ICERIGGER

         MISSION TO MOULOKIN

         THE DELUGE DRIVERS

 The Adventures of Flinx of the Commonwealth

         FOR LOVE OF MOTHER‑NOT

         THE TAR‑AIYM KRANG

         ORPHAN STAR

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         THE END OF THE MATTER

         FLINX IN FLUX

         MID‑FLINX

         BLOODHYPE

         THE HOWLING STONES

 The Damned

          Book One: A CALL TO ARMS

          Book Two: THE FALSE MIRROR

          Book Three: THE SPOILS OF WAR

 THE BLACK HOLE                               CACHALOT

 DARK STAR                               THE METROGNOME and Other Stories

 MIDWORLD                               NOR CRYSTALTEARS

 SENTENCED TO PRISM                               SPLINTER OF THE MIND'S EYE

 STAR TREK@ LOGS ONE‑TEN                               VOYAGE TO THE CITY OF THE

 DEAD

 WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . .                               ... WHO NEEDS

 ENEMIES?

 MAD AMOS                               PARALLELITIES

 PHYLOGENESIS                               DIRGE*

 * forthcoming

 Books published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available at quantity

 discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund‑raising, and special

 sales use. For details, please call 1‑500‑733‑3000.

 ***************************************************

 Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized.

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 If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the

 publisher as "unsold or destroyed" and neither the author

 I nor the publisher may have received payment for it

  

 A Del Rey® Book

 Published by Ballantine Books

  

 Copyright © 1992 by Thranx, Inc.

 All rights reserved under International and Pan-American

 Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by

 Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New

 York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of

 Canada Limited, Toronto.

  

 http://www.randomhouse.com

  

 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-73136

  

 ISBN 0-345-37575-0

  

 Printed in Canada

  

 First Hardcover Edition: April 1992

 First Mass Market Edition: June 1993

 10 9 8 7

 Cover by ?

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 ***************************************************

 For Harry E. Fischer,

 Able-bodied seaman and fellow voyager.

 ***************************************************

 Chapter One

  

 By the time he was twelve years old, Ranji knew he liked to kill. His parents,

 naturally, encouraged him.

 By the tinge of the Trials he had added four years of experience, education, and

 maturity to a great deal of additional height, weight, and strength. With these

 came confidence in his abilities, a soft-spoken assurance much admired and

 valued by the rest of the soldier-trainees in his age group.

 There was no jealousy among them, that being an alien concept shared by the

 multitude of monsters whose ultimate goal was the destruction of civilization.

 Why would anyone be jealous of him? Were they not all striving for the sane end,

 seeking enthusiastically the same results? Achievement among friends was to be

 applauded, not en-vied. Who would not wish to have a soldier more skilled in the

 arts of combat than oneself fighting on his flank?

 So each trainee strove to outdo his or her competitors while simultaneously

 urging them to greater achievement.

 Until the monsters arrived on the scene, civilization had been advancing

 steadily across the cosmos, spreading organization where hitherto had been only

 chaos. The pace had been slow but gratifyingly inexorable. Occasional setbacks

 were accepted and taken in stride until ground lost could, as it inevitably was,

 be regained.

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 'Then a thousand or so years ago the alliance of monsters had been encountered,

 and everything had changed.

 Many were unpleasant to contemplate physically as well as intellectually, while

 others differed little in appearance from Ranji's own kind. The worst were

 utterly unpredictable, savage and cunning beyond belief, possessed of a feral

 intelligence that made them awful to encounter on the battlefield.

 With such as these in the vanguard, the alliance of mon-sters had wreaked

 considerable havoc. But their recent advances had been halted, the situation

 stabilized. Soon the civilized peoples would begin pushing them back, rescuing

 as they advanced those poor, benighted populations who had suffered for

 centuries under the monsters' domin-ion.

 Ranji and his friends knew this to be inevitable. Their own training both as

 soldiers and civilized citizens proved it so. No matter how strong, the forces

 of chaos could never overcome and defeat those of civilization. Not as long as

 determined fighters like Ranji-aar and his compan-ions continued to rise through

 the ranks to take their place at the forefront of civilization's defense.

 While there was no place in true society for jealousy, room was allowed for

 pardonable pride. In the fifteen-to-seventeen-year-old cluster, he and his

 trainee squad re-peatedly graded out at or near the top of their class. In fact,

 on all of Cossuut only one other squad regularly posted scores matching those of

 Ranji's. That was a group from Kizzmat Township, which lay just on the other

 side of the Massmari mountains, near the junction of the rivers Nerse and

 Joutoula. Near enough for a friendly rivalry of reputations to have been

 invented by the media. As grad-uation exercises progressed, both squads

 qualified easily for the planetary finals in their age group.

 His mother and father took quiet pride in the effortless qualification of their

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 son and his friends, as they had in all his achievements. Their delight was

 perhaps magnified somewhat by the fact that neither of them had been a sol-dier.

 Ranji's father worked in a factory which produced nanotronic components, while

 his mother was a teacher. Certainly her tutoring abilities contributed to

 Ranji's success. as well as to that of his younger brother, Saguio, and his baby

 sister, Cynsa.

 Though jealousy was unknown among the trainees, it was still a good thing that

 Ranji was not the best at every thing. His friend Birachii-uun was stronger,

 Cossinza-iiv much faster. But in Ranji was found the best combination of warrior

 attributes, a fact which was reflected in his in-dividual scores. Certainly he

 was the smartest of his com-panions.

 Though only sixteen, he was often nominated to serve as leader during important

 exercises. This was almost unheard of. Strategy leaders were inevitably chosen

 from the ranks of seniors: seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. Fully conscious of

 such honors, he carried them well. Coupled with exceptional organizational

 skills, his drive and deter-mination rarely disappointed those who placed their

 faith in him. His ability was a fact his peers recognized and applauded.

 He took pleasure in his accomplishments because he saw how much they pleased his

 parents. To him, appro-bation meant little. He was interested only in the job at

 hand, and in doing it well. For that reason he looked for-ward eagerly to the

 coming graduation finals.

 Until those were passed there was always the chance of failing, of not being

 awarded full soldier status. Even accomplished students like Ranji had been

 known to crack under the pressure. No opprobrium attached to such individuals.

 They simply served the war effort in some other fashion more suited to their

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 actual skills.

 Ranji was calm and ready. He had no intention of fail-ing. He could not fail.

 Not only did he want, like any healthy member of his species, to be a soldier:

 he head to be. He knew, sensed, felt, that he'd been born to it. To kill and

 chance being killed in the defense of civilization. To fight the enemy for real,

 not merely in simulations.

 He always tried to approach the schooling simulations in that state of mind,

 striving to convince himself that he was not participating in simple tests but

 was actually engaging in combat against the monsters; killing for real,

 destroying them one after another to protect his civiliza-tion, his friends, his

 world.

 Not to mention revenging his real mother and father.

 Along with the parents of most of his friends, they had perished when the

 monsters had invaded and destroyed Houcilat. He, his brother, and his sister had

 been adopted and raised on Cossuut.

 He had studied the history of the incident from an early age, and the details

 had long ago burned themselves into his memory. How the monsters had swept down

 without warning to ravage and obliterate every structure, every vestige .of

 civilization in their lust for destruction. How they had seared the planet's

 surface so badly that it could no longer support higher life. And most

 meritoriously, how a few shuttles had darted gallantly through the withering

 enemy fire to rescue what survivors they could, including himself and his

 siblings, and carry them to the safety of waiting starships and an eventual life

 of comparative peace on Cossuut.

 His teachers had put off explaining his history to him until he was old enough

 to comprehend, if not to under-stand. Only when he asked for the information was

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 it supplied. As he studied, and learned, he developed the determination which

 had characterized him throughout his adolescence.

 He carried the horrific images of vanished Houcilat with him into every test,

 every trial. They added resolve to his efforts, enabling him to rise above even

 those of his mates, whose histories were no less tragic than his own.

 There were twenty-five of them, the same number as in an actual commissioned

 attack squad. They had practiced together, trained together since childhood,

 defeating one school team after another. Now the culmination of those untiring

 efforts was at hand. Some of his friends were apprehensive, others uncertain. As

 for Ranji, he burned with anticipation.

 Suddenly there were no more teams to defeat, no more bedazzled opponents to

 overwhelm and intimidate. Ranji and his friends had reached the summit of

 achievement: the planetary finals for their age cluster. Of the hundreds of

 squads that had entered in hopes of being declared un-disputed strategic

 champions, only the team from Kizzmat Township stood in the way of Ranji and his

 friends. Mys-terious, enigmatic Kizzmat, from over the Massmari mountains.

 Kizzmat, who in defeating one competitor af-ter another had demonstrated skills

 and swiftness equal to Ranji's own.

 He was not worried. No matter their opponents' record, Ranji and his friends

 never took them lightly. Such cau-tion, along with many other talents, was the

 legacy of their class-level supervisor.

 Instructor Kouuad was shorter than he seemed to be. Extensive combat experience

 and many honors gave him stature. Indeed, it was unusual for so experienced a

 soldier to be assigned to teach younger age levels. From the time they were old

 enough to understand such things, Ranji and his companions were conscious of

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 their great luck in hav-ing Kouuad as their teacher.

 Kouuad-iel-an's field career had been brought to an early and untimely end by a

 severe injury which not even the best physicians had been able to completely

 repair. It was rumored that he had suffered the damage in hand-to-hand combat,

 with one of the most vicious of the monsters them-selves. His fellow teachers

 held him in some awe. The effect of his reputation on his pupils was profound.

 It was mentioned that access to such an extraordinary instructor gave the

 trainees of Ciilpaan an unfair advantage over the others in their age cluster.

 All such protests were disallowed by the officials. It was the trainees who took

 the tests, not their teacher. As for Ranji and his friends, they were more than

 willing to credit Kouuad for much of their success.

 "I warn you now," the venerable soldier told them. one morning when they had

 assembled for practice. "Hitherto you have run over, around, and through your

 opposition.

 But this is no mere township exercise approaching. These are your cluster's

 planetary finals. Career success can be guaranteed in a few days. The trainees

 of Kizzmat know this. You need to ponder it as well.

 "Remember that their record is as proud as yours. They will not go down easily.

 I have seen recordings of them in action. They are tougher and more resourceful

 than any group you have yet confronted." Kouuad paced back and forth in front of

 the large-screen simulator.

 "Do not let your successes go to your heads. Everything you have achieved in

 your lives to date is history. All your accomplishments lie in the past. Only

 this forthcoming confrontation matters. Everything else is dust. That is as true

 of real combat as of simulated.

 `.Realize, too, that even as I speak thus to you, they are receiving similar

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 advice, they will be equally well pre-pared. " He stopped and smiled proudly,

 squinting through aged eyes that had seen too much death.

 "You have met every challenge thrown at you. All that remains is your cluster

 championship for all Cossuut. Bear in mind that beyond this lies actual combat

 against the monsters. If you can advance that day in your minds and approach

 this competition as if actual warfare were in-volved, I think you will do well.

 Realize that you compete not for pride or prize, but to preserve civilization."

 Amusement suffused his expression.

 "There is nothing wrong with winning a prize, though. The record of your

 performance, both individually and as a group, will become a matter of

 permanence. You want that record to be approving. -

 "Don't worry, honored teacher," said an enthusiastic Bielon. "We intend to win."

 Murmurs of agreement rose from those around her.

 "What about the Kizzmatis' methods?" came a ques-tion from the back row.

 " Yes," said another. "How do they differ from what we have encountered so far?

 "

 "Strategically we do not know what to expect, " Kouuad explained. "Their tactics

 are unpredictable. That has been one of their greatest strengths, as it has been

 one of yours. They are famous improvisers, swift and decisive. Those of you who

 are squad leaders will therefore accrue addi-tional burdens in the field. The

 rest of you must obey your leaders' instructions implicitly. There will be no

 time for animated, lengthy tactical debate in this competition. Things will

 happen quickly. The Kizzmati are fast." He stared hard at them. "I am counting

 on you to be faster."

 He was silent for a long moment. "These are the plan-etary finals. There will be

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 no opprobrium attached to losing, no disgrace in defeat. To finish second among

 thousands is the grandest of accomplishments."

 "We're not coming in second!" someone shouted from the back. Kouuad tilted his

 head slightly and smiled anew.

 "You have already exceeded the achievements of the majority of your

 contemporaries. Despite the knowledge that the greatest prize of all is within

 your grasp, you should not forget that." He checked his chronometer.

 "I have nothing more to teach you. I suggest you all go home and try to get a

 good night's sleep. Tomorrow morn-ing we leave for the competition site in the

 Joultasik foot-hills. "

 A buzz of conversation rose from Ranji's friends. Until then they had not been

 told where the competition was to be held. Secrecy insured that neither side

 would be able to spy in advance on the competition matrix and thus gain an

 unfair advantage over the competition.

 Ranji was pleased. The Joultasik would provide varia-tions in terrain, and he

 usually performed best in multiple environments.

  

 "What do you think our chances are?" he asked his father that night. They sat at

 the dining table; mother and father at opposite angles, Ranji, his brother, and

 his baby sister at the foot of the triangle.

 "You're gonna kill 'em, wipe 'em out, massacre 'em! Just like you have all the

 others! " Bereft of weaponry, Saguio waved an eating utensil instead. Ranji gave

 his younger sibling a tolerant look.

 "I want you to fight hard, but also to be careful, dear. I don't want you or any

 of your friends to get hurt." His mother was refilling their glasses with cold

 fruit juice. "The Kizzmatis' reputation rivals your own. They're go-ing to be

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 hard to beat."

 "I know, Mother."

 "You'll kick the crap out of 'em. " Saguio tried to speak and shovel food in at

 the same time.

 Ranji regarded his sibling fondly. If anything, Saguio was going to be a little

 taller, a little stronger than his older brother. But not smarter. Testing had

 already been extensive enough to show that. Still, he was going to be a credit

 to his family line.

 Not his present family, Ranji reminded himself darkly. The one that had been

 brutally extinguished by the monsters. They would win tomorrow. All he had to do

 was picture the Kizzmatis as monsters.

 "We will, Saguio."

 His father gestured with his glass. "Beware overconfi-dence, Ranji. Never chance

 overconfidence. Not because it might cost you tomorrow, but because it will

 certainly cost you in combat. I don't care if you win tomorrow or not. Just

 reaching the finals is a supreme achievement. Where I don't want you to lose is

 on the real battlefield. "

 "Don't worry, Father. I would never go into battle over-confident against the

 monsters." He picked at his food. "It's striking how close in appearance they

 are to us. Many times I've sat studying the files and wondered if I was looking

 at my own kind, until the differences became ap-parent. "

 "Physical similarities mean nothing," his mother said softly. She touched her

 forehead, then her chest. "Here and here they are radically different from us,

 programmed to kill, to have no mercy, to destroy civilization wherever they find

 it. They cannot build; they can only destroy."

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 "That is why they must be stopped." His father grunted. "If you and your friends

 can contribute to that, you will gain the gratitude not only of your own kind

 but of all civilized beings everywhere."

 “Tear 'em up tomorrow, Ranj," his brother growled.

 "I'll do my best, Sagui.”

 "You always have." His mother turned to Cynsa, who had begun squealing and

 pounding on the table. Ranji's baby sister was a terror. He smiled to himself.

 When she matured she'd probably be a tougher fighter than either him or his

 brother. All three of them would do their adop-tive parents as well as their

 original lineage proud.

 Trial finals first, he reminded himself. Graduation be-fore combat. He'd been

 pointing toward tomorrow ever since awareness had claimed him. He and Birachii

 and Cossinza and all the rest. Now the ultimate goal lay within their grasp.

 Only one more challenge to turn back, one more group to demoralize and defeat.

 One more height to scale.

 He dug into the remnants of his meal. He wasn't hun-gry, but he knew he was

 going to need the fuel.

  

 Everyone knew about the Finals Maze. If you were train-ing to be a soldier, you

 heard about it at least once a month all your life. Externally its appearance

 differed little from similar competition mazes. What might be found in-side was

 a different matter entirely.

 There would be partitions, of course. Sheer, nonreflec-tive, smooth-sided walls

 of impenetrable ceramic that would tower over the tallest team member. These

 divided the Maze into corridors and arenas, passageways and pits. Each

 partitioned region differed in size and shape from those immediately tangent to

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 it.

 The Maze contained differing habitats, each of a type undeclared in advance.

 Those attempting to pass through might encounter burning desert, frozen tundra,

 steaming jungle, or temperate forest. The Maze might be filled with water, fresh

 or salt. In addition to doing battle with their competition, they would have to

 adapt instantly and successfully to whatever local or alien biota had been

 pro-grammed into the test field. A squad could defeat its armed opponents only

 to be wiped out by a mock avalanche or flood.

 You took your people and advanced through the Maze with the aim of wiping out

 your opponents or capturing their headquarters position before they could reach

 yours. Goals were easy to envision but difficult to achieve.

 The sun was out and a few clouds marred the pale blue sky. Not that it made any

 difference. Local conditions were meaningless inside the Maze, which could

 generate its own internal weather. Ranji ignored the bustle around him as he ran

 through a detailed final check of his own equipment. The special competition

 pistol he carried would reg-ister mock injury or death if its beam struck an

 opponent. In all respects except its nonlethality it was identical to real

 military hardware.

 Though access to the test area was limited, a fair crowd was present. The Finals

 attracted interested observers and media recorders from all over Cossuut. No

 family mem-bers were allowed to attend. They would have to content themselves

 with watching the action at home, on visual.

 It was much remarked upon that the two final teams lived so close to one another

 yet had never before met in competition. A quirk of scheduling had started them

 com-peting in opposite directions, in effect forcing them to bat-tle through a

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 world's worth of opponents before the time came when they would be allowed to

 test one another.

 As he continued with the. necessary preparations Ranji regulated his breathing,

 trying to keep it slow and steady, using the biocontrol techniques he had

 learned to moder-ate his adrenaline level. He could see his companions doing

 likewise. No one said much. This was the last opportunity any of them would have

 until the end of the competition to indulge in private thoughts. Once in the

 Maze, their attention would become focused and they would have to act and think

 in unison.

 They were twenty-five to a team. Fourteen boys, eleven girls. On the far side of

 the laze twenty-five young men and women from Kizzmat Township were at this very

 moment going through the same motions and thinking many of the same thoughts as

 Ranji and his friends. Afterward there would be a celebration, a party, where

 victor and loser could meet in an atmosphere of genuine conviviality and

 friendship. But before that happened they would do their very best to

 mock-murder each other.

 Ecozones occupied Ranji's thoughts. He hoped the laze wouldn't be full of, say,

 arctic tundra. Tundra simplified things too much. There was nowhere to hide, not

 enough variables. Dense jungle would suit him better. Or maybe desiccated

 granite. Hopefully there wouldn't be a lot of water. Ire didn't like, fighting

 wet.

 Whatever they encountered, he and his friends were prepared. They had trained in

 all conditions:

 He was one of five squad leaders. Birachii was another, Cossinza a third. Pretty

 blond Gjiann from the outskirts of the township was a fourth, and Kohmaddu the

 fifth. Heavyset and slow, she compensated for physical defi-ciencies with a

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 brilliant mind and undisputed courage and daring. No matter how tough the

 competition, her squad rarely suffered a loss.

 They were ready for the Kizzmatis, all right. Victory lay on the far side of the

 laze. All they had to do was enter and take it.

 Chapter Two

       

 The pale glow of predawn heralded the incipient appearance of Cossuut's sun as

 the five squads which comprised the Trials group assembled for Kouuad's final

 briefing.

 "I don't have to tell you how proud I am of what you have already accomplished."

 Their squat instructor surveyed them in fatherly fashion. "You have surpassed

 not only my expectations but also those of your parents and learning mates.

 "I am especially gratified by the performance of those of you whose origins lie

 with devastated Houcilat. Your achievements stand out all the more because of

 the additional burdens that were placed on your maturation. Soon you will be

 given the opportunity to seek compensation. Keep that in mind as you enter these

 Trials." He strove to make eye contact with each of them in turn.

 "May it go well for you," he said finally. "Let each do their best. Whatever

 results, I will be there for you when all is over."

 They waited in respectful silence until their instructor was out of earshot. It

 had been a typical Kouuad speech: terse, to the point, and devoid of the flowery

 exhortations sometimes favored by other instructors. No matter. They did not

 need fancy words. They had training. Ranji knew they would not let the old

 warrior down.

 A certain amount of pomp and ceremony was unavoidable as they were marched to

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 the south entrance of the Maze and subjected to final Trial instructions.

 Somewhere to the north of their starting position lay the Kizzmati headquarters

 and twenty-five highly trained opponents as dedicated to winning as themselves.

 In between were the unscalable ceramic walls that cut the Maze up into multiple

 twists and terrains.

 Ranji paid little attention to the declamatory Trials official. He and his

 companions knew the rules by heart. They were assembled across from the Maze

 entrance, already planning and plotting, their eyes alert for potential

 antagonists even though they knew that the Trials had yet to begin.

 Tense and expectant as he was, he knew this was no more than a student exercise,

 a prelude to the real thing, to actual combat. That would come soon enough.

 First there was this one final test to get past. A last chance to accrue

 artificial glory.

 As the official droned on, some of Ranji's friends began running in place or

 performing restricted range-of-motion calisthenics to stay loose. Cossinza's

 quintet was particularly agitated. As the fastest of the five squads, they had

 been given the task of moving out first, striking quickly for the enemy's

 headquarters in hopes of bypassing or catching any defenders off guard. It was a

 risky strategy but one they had brought off before. For it to work, Cossinza had

 to find the shortest path through the Maze on the initial try.

 The rest of the group would advance more deliberately, cautious but still

 pressing the attack. Relentlessness was their hallmark, a natural tendency which

 Kouuad had wisely encouraged. As far as Ranji was concerned, emphasis on a

 strong defense was the sign of a battle already half-lost.

 No martial music, no blaring sirens announced the start of the Trial Finals. An

 official simply gestured in their direction, and a couple of squad leaders

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 responded in kind. Led by Cossinza's people, the young representatives of

 Ciilpaan entered the Maze.

 Immediately they separated into their respective squads. Moving forward at the

 run, Ranji's quintet passed through a ceramic portal that opened onto gently

 rolling desert terrain. His heart sank even as the temperature rose alarmingly.

 He didn't favor desert fighting. Automatically he and his colleagues made

 appropriate adjustments to their equipment and camouflage.

 Small sandstone buttes glazed with the hue of forgotten rust protruded from

 shifting dunes. To their right a small pool of water collected at the end of a

 dry gully. Alien-looking, spiny plants were the only visible life in the

 artificial landscape. Ranji reminded his friends to avoid them. The Maze was as

 much their opponent as the Kizzmatis.

 Squads Four and Two hugged opposite walls as all three moved forward, Four

 taking up positions on slightly higher ground to cover Two's advance while

 Ranji's people worked their way up the middle. While it was unlikely that their

 opponents had come this far already, no one from Ciilpaan was taking any

 chances. The Kizzmatis did not have a reputation as sluggards.

 Ranji's squad entered the gully. As they used its cover and then that of a

 smaller tributary to work their way northward, he wondered how Cossinza's people

 were faring. They had disappeared into a different branch of the Maze. He

 glanced at his wrist communicator but did not adjust it. Communication was

 allowed and possible only within individual Maze partitions. Splitting up

 offered a testing group more attack options but reduced their ability to

 coordinate strategy and defend their own headquarters. Radical groups that

 divided into the maximum five squads were usually overwhelmed, while those in

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 which all twenty-five participants stayed together were almost always

 outflanked.

 It didn't matter to the Ciilpaans. They were prepared for anything. Such

 tactical flexibility had been a major contributor to their string of successes.

 It took them most of the day to cross the desert partition, advancing with a

 proven mix of care and speed. Evening produced the first of several surprises.

 Gleaming walls narrowed to form an intersection. Whiteness glimmered beyond. Not

 the white of gypsum sand but of ice and snow. Bitter cold leaked through the

 portal. Ranji's people were forced to make hasty readjustments to their

 equipment.

 The instant they darted through the opening temperature and visibility fell

 sharply. Snow swirled around them, and the clear desert sky of the partition

 just traversed was replaced by wind and scudding dark clouds.

 Ranji smiled to himself. There had been rumors. Not only would they have to make

 their way through an infernally uncooperative Maze, avoiding natural

 difficulties and traps along with their opponents, they would also have to cope

 with environments that changed with each new partition. That meant altering

 tactics accordingly. It was challenge enough to tax the most resourceful.

 Among other things, it meant they could not predetermine how to allocate their

 supplies of food and water. Not when they might have to go from spending days in

 .a comparatively benign temperate forest to a week on a barren tundra. It

 complicated everything. Which was, of course, the intention of the Maze's

 designers.

 The next partition was dominated by higher, damper desert. Dense succulent

 vegetation mimicked lusher climes while small creatures scurried through the

 undergrowth. A sudden downpour caught them unaware, leaving everyone drenched

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 and considerably less buoyant than they had been the previous morning.

 And still no sign of the Kizzmatis.

 Squad Four was out of range, having decided to explore a different partition,

 but he was still in communication with Two. Again he found himself wondering at

 Cossinza's progress, decrying the inability of the communicators to penetrate

 the ceramic walls of the Maze.

 Then the dry air was full of questing beams of colored light and he was too busy

 shouting orders to worry about the circumstances of distant colleagues.

 As he scrambled frantically for the cover of a cluster of thick-leaved bushes,

 he found himself marveling at the Kizzmatis' speed. He'd repeatedly been told

 how fast they were, but it was still a shock to encounter them this early in the

 game. From the volume of fire it was impossible to tell how many of them there

 were. He guessed more than one full squad but less than three. Lights flickered

 overhead, hunting responsive targets.

 A quick check revealed that his squad had suffered two minor "injuries" and no

 "deaths." They were still at full strength, which suggested either that the

 Kizzmatis were very bad shots or else that they had also not expected to run

 into their opponents quite so soon. A hasty call indicated that Birachii's Squad

 Two was in equally good shape. He felt better.

 "I think we've surprised them." Birachii sounded confident over the

 communicator.

 Ranji kept his lips close to the pickup. "It's mutual. Don't try to move on 'em

 too fast. We want to be in position to support each other.''

 "Check. How many you estimate?"

 "One to three squads."

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 "Affirmative. We're behind a little hill. I'll try to work our way around to the

 west. They'll expect us to come over the top."

 "Don't count on it. Don't count on anything with this lot. Watch yourselves."

 Birachii responded with a rude noise, which left Ranji and his companions

 grinning.

 "They didn't waste any time." Tourrnast-eir used,his perception lens to try and

 peer through the thick brush. "By my ancestors, they're quick."

 "Hopefully they're thinking the same of us," said someone else. He held his

 pistol with both hands. "Maybe they'll run right into our line of fire."

 "Wonder if they've crossed more of the Maze than we have?" mused a fourth member

 of the squad.

 This was not how his people should be thinking. "Nobody covers ground faster

 than the Ciilpaan," Ranji snapped. It didn't matter that he did not believe it,

 only that his squad believed him.

 "Check," murmured Tourtnast-eir. Crawling on his belly, he began edging to his

 right. "Let's try and get behind them."

 "No." Ranji put a restraining hand on his friend's leg. "The first thing they'd

 expect in a situation like this is a flanking move. They'll be setting up for

 it."

 "Won't matter if we move faster than them," observed Weennoon.

 "If we don't and I'm right, then it's Trial end for this squad. You ready to

 chance that, Weenn?" The older boy subsided, thoughtful.

 "What do you have in mind, Ranji?"

 "Their reputation's as exalted as ours. I've been thinking ever since we were

 told that they'd be our final opponents that the same old strategies won't work.

 This isn't slow-stupid Goriiava from down south. I've believed all along that

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 we'd have to try something new to prevail."

 "Maybe so," Weenn agreed, "but we can't sit here waiting for them to flank us,

 either."

 "How about setting up and waiting for them back at the last partition?" Tounnast

 looked hopeful. "The snow on the other side might blind them temporarily."

 "Good idea, except that we don't progress by going backward. I don't want us to

 get into a protracted firefight. If that's what they want then let them initiate

 it by retreating to a defensive position. If they do that then we'll respond

 with countering strategies, but only then."

 Off to their left, Birachii's group continued to exchange heavy fire with the

 enemy. That presented possibilities as well as dangers. He relented enough to

 allow Tourmast to reconnoiter. His friend returned moments later.

 "I can see the fire off to the west. Still no sign of anyone in front of us."

 Ranji considered. "So all of them are engaging Squad Two ... or else there's

 more of them ahead, waiting for us." He eyed his companions. As usual, they were

 waiting for him to make the decisions.

 "We're moving. Not flanking. Straight ahead and in close-order single file. If

 they're all on Squad Two, then we'll be able to slip in behind. If not, we offer

 as small a target as possible and try to sneak past to the next partition.

 Kinjoww-uiv, you take tail position." The girl nodded. She had wonderful

 reflexes and would hopefully insure that as they advanced no enemy troops would

 slip up on their rear.

 "No shooting unless you're positive you have a target." Letting the

 sharp-sighted Tourmast lead the way, he rolled onto his belly and followed his

 colleague into the brash.

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 His hands were protected by field gloves, but loose gravel scraped his cheeks.

 He found himself wishing for the soft sands of the desert environment they had

 traversed two partitions back. Participants, naturally, had no control over the

 Trial environments. He reminded himself that students who spent time complaining

 about the harshness of their surroundings rarely did well in competition. It

 was, of course, irrelevant to actual combat.

 Boots paused ahead of him. "I see them," Tourmast whispered back tersely. "Three

 ... no, four. They're not looking this way. They're all firing at Squad Two's

 position."

 "Got one, got one!" The soft yell of triumph whispered over the communicator. If

 Birachii's people were indeed occupying the full attention of the enemy and

 doing well in the bargain, then it opened up all sorts of strategic

 possibilities for Ranji's squad. At the least, it meant they were already in

 position to wipe out a good portion of Squad Two's assailants, at little risk to

 themselves. They had been presented with a wonderful opportunity.

 Too wonderful.

 If their reputation was legitimate, and there was no reason to assume it was

 otherwise, it was hard to believe the Kizzmatis would leave themselves open in

 such a fashion, much less throw all their resources into an all-out attack on

 Birachii's well-defended hill position. Ranji made up his mind quickly.

 "Keep moving . . . and don't slow down!"

 "But . . ."

 He hurried to stifle dissent. "I know what you're all thinking. That we should

 go to, Birachii's aid. But if they are trying to flank him, he's in good

 position to hold them off; if they're not, then this is our best chance to slip

 past and make progress through the Maze. That's our ultimate objective. So let's

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 move."

 The battle of light pistols raged silently on their left as they hurried

 forward, halting only when the next intersection became visible. Ahead Ranji

 could make out vegetation denser than any they'd yet encountered. Specific

 shapes were blurred by a dark curtain of rain. No moisture fell in the partition

 they currently occupied. A light, cool breeze blew in their faces while a glance

 behind showed only distant flashes of light.

 "Up and left," he ordered curtly. Rising in a body, they headed toward the

 portal in a crouching run.

 Which sent them stumbling into the squad of startled Kizzmatis who were busily

 occupied in excavating a defensive position just inside the next intersection.

 Clearly they expected that any advancing Ciilpaan would be tied down by the

 firefight behind. So confident were they of having enough time to finish their

 fortifications that they hadn't even posted a guard. Tools fashioned from

 locally obtained Maze materials were thrown aside as the Kizzmatis scrambled

 wildly for their weapons.

 In the ensuing close-quarter gunfight Ranji "lost" two of his own people before

 all five of the enemy could be taken out. Now he found himself regarding the

 sullen Kizzmati squad leader as he contemplated new options. The youth was even

 taller and more muscular than Ranji himself.

 "You're good." His opponent spoke reluctantly as he sat on the slab of rock

 where he'd been ' 'killed.'' "Real good.'' He grinned unpleasantly, displaying a

 true warrior's smile. "But it won't matter. The outcome will be the same."

 As if on cue, Ranji's communicator suddenly filled the air with shouts and

 curses. "Birachii!" Ranji yelled into the pickup. "What's happening? What's

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 going on?"

 His friend's voice was panicky. "Behind us! They were behind us all the time.

 They were behind us before the shooting started! They just wanted to find out

 how many of us there were before they attacked. They . . . !"

 Communications ceased. "Birachii!" Ranji said tightly. "Birachii, report. Anyone

 from Squad Two, report." Silence taunted him.

 The enemy squad leader looked smug. "Taken out. All of 'em."

 Slowly Ranji let his wrist communicator drop, gazed narrowly at his defeated

 opponent. "We're even, then. Your people have taken Birachii's squad; we've

 taken yours."

 "At the cost of forty percent of your strength," the squad leader reminded him,

 alluding to the pair of Ranji's companions who'd received fatal "hits" during

 the unexpected confrontation.

 "You don't know how many of your own went down in the fight with Birachii's

 squad. Our strength in this part of the Maze could still be equal."

 "I doubt it.'' The Kizzmati leader and his companions exchanged amused glances.

 "You see, we're all here." He nodded toward the now distant end of the

 partition.

 "What are you talking about?" Tourmast looked uneasy.

 "All twenty-five of us. All five squads. We just blasted through the main

 entrance and kept moving as fast as we could, figuring you'd split up to try

 different passages. That way we'd be in shape to overwhelm any opposition."

 Tourmast was shaking his head. "That's old, outmoded strategy. Nobody fights

 like that anymore. It's too predictable, too easy to defend against."

 The squad leader's grin widened. "Sure is. That's why we figured it'd be the

 last thing you'd be expecting."

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 "A concerted defense could have pinned you down here long enough for one of our

 squads to take your headquarters," Ranji pointed out.

 His opponent nodded. "Sure could. But it hasn't, and now it won't. Your squad

 can't do a damn thing now. All our remaining forces are between you and your

 headquarters. You're finished."

 "In real combat a single burst could have wiped out your entire group,''

 Tourmast observed angrily.

 "This isn't real combat. Neither side has access to heavy weapons. All we're

 given are these." He held up his light pistol, which had automatically

 deactivated the instant its owner had suffered his fatal "injury." "You modify

 tactics to adapt to local conditions." He turned his attention back to Ranji.

 "I'm estimating from our speed of advance that the body of our group is more

 than halfway to your headquarters, with nothing between them that is capable of

 stopping them. You're fast. . . faster than any group we've ever fought. But it

 won't do you any good. Because the rest of your people are advancing in

 expectation of encountering resistance, and there isn't any. We're all here, in

 one place."

 "That means your headquarters is completely undefended," Ranji observed.

 "Unless I'm lying to you." His opponent was clearly enjoying himself. "Are you

 going to base strategy on the words of a 'dead' opponent? Not that it matters. I

 was watching your face when I made my guess. We are more than halfway to your

 headquarters. Which means that you're less than halfway to ours. There's no way

 you can get there first.

 "If you've any sense at all you'll have left one squad behind to defend.

 There'll be at least ten to fifteen of us attacking. The outcome's inevitable.

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 Why not register your surrender now?" The Kizzmati stretched. "The sooner we

 march out of here and off Trial rations, the more pleasant it'll be for all of

 us."

 "Not a chance," Tourmast growled.

 Their opponent looked disappointed. "Oh, well. Prolong it if you must."

 Ranji turned to leave, hesitated. "How can you be so sure your group will get to

 our headquarters before any of our people can reach yours? Maybe this isn't the

 shortest route through the Maze. Maybe your other squads will wander around for

 days in search of the right intersection."

 The squad leader put his hands behind his head, leaned back. "Oh, this is the

 shortest route, all right. You see, six days ago we were finally able to bribe

 the member of the Trials committee we'd been in contact with to provide us with

 a map." A stunned Ranji noted that this confession was uttered without a hint of

 embarrassment or regret.

 "You can't do that. It will invalidate the results!"

 "Think so? The Trials are supposed to simulate real combat conditions. That

 means you win by any means possible short of inflicting actual physical injury

 on your opponents. There's nothing in the rules against bribery. At worst we'll

 have to repeat the Finals in a new Maze. Myself, I think we'll gain merit for

 innovation.

 "The teachers aren't interested in methodology. Their sole concern is turning

 out winners, survivors. For all you and I know, this is the standard tactic

 previous Finals winners have employed."

 Ranji walked off to confer with his two surviving companions.

 "He can't be right . . . can he?" Weenn looked dazed. "Knowing the route through

 the Maze would give them an unbeatable advantage."

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 "No wonder they felt safe in keeping their whole strength together," Tourmast

 muttered. "Surely the judges won't uphold this."

 "Unless the Kizzmati is right and they're only interested in who wins, and not

 by what means." Weenn looked less than confident.

 "I don't know." Ranji was thinking furiously. "If we could get in touch with

 Squads One and Five we could bring them into the fight, but it would mean

 searching parallel partitions. We don't have near enough time. With Birachii's

 people out of the way they'll be on our headquarters before we could catch up

 with them." His gaze rose.

 "If they can use unconventional tactics, so can we."

 "What do you mean?" Weenn asked.

 "Everybody has their cutter?" His companions checked their service belts for the

 tool, which was intended to help them in downing and shaping vegetation for

 defensive fortifications and shelter.

 "We're going on, into the next partition. And watch yourselves. Like their squad

 leader said, he might've been lying."

 They left their smug opponents behind. They would be restricted to the place

 where they had been removed from the competition, their weapons and

 instrumentation deactivated.

 "If there are fifteen to twenty of them operating together and they know exactly

 where they're going, why are we wasting our time?" Tourmast struck angrily at a

 protruding branch. "We're going to have to rely on the determination of the

 judges.''

 "I'm not relying on anybody but myself," Ranji shot back.

 The next partition was filled with cool, dry deciduous forest. While his

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 companions kept puzzled watch, Ranji circled trees until he found what he

 wanted.

 "Get out your cutters," he ordered, making three marks on the nearest trunk with

 his own. "Cut here, and here. Everybody pick a side."

 "What's the point of building a barrier?" Weenn demanded to know even as he set

 to work.

 "We're not making a barrier." Smoke rose from the trunk. ' 'Just do as I say.''

 Working in unison, they soon had the tree felled. Ranji pocketed his cutter and

 started climbing. Tourmast gaped at him.

 "You can't do that, Ranj. This is cheating, too."

 His squad leader looked down at him. "If they're going to invalidate this Trial,

 it might as well be with equanimity. Are you coming or not?''

 Tourmast and Weenn exchanged a glance. Then Weenn started up the slanting trunk.

 His companion followed.

 Strange to be standing atop a partition wall. It was barely as wide as his boot,

 Ranji noted. Just wide enough to walk . . . provided you put one foot carefully

 in front of the other, had no fear of heights and superb balance.

 Below and to his right lay the partition of deciduous forest. Behind them haze

 rose from the temperate desert until it was blocked by the artificial

 atmospheric inversion layer of the Maze. His left hand hung over wave-tossed

 water thick with the smell of salt: an oceanic environment. Lucky they hadn't

 chosen to enter that one. If he fell he wanted to make sure it was to his right.

 Better bruises and broken bones than immersion.

 Demonstrating their unsurpassed training to the full, the three Ciilpaanians

 headed north, running along the crest of the narrow wall.

 It all looked so easy, so simple from up here, Ranji reflected as he ran.

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 Habitats which on the ground would have blocked or hindered their progress

 slipped rapidly past.

 Once, they observed figures slogging through a low, boggy environment, advancing

 in a familiar diamond pattern. He recognized Gjiann's squad and wanted to call

 out to her but did not, knowing she could not hear him. Each partition was

 sealed for sound as well as ecology, to prevent groups in neighboring partitions

 from communicating with one another by the simple means of shouting over the

 barriers. He ran on.

 The number of walls decreased as they progressed, until Ranji ordered a slowdown

 above a partition filled from one side to the other with a field of tall golden

 grain. A compact complex of monitoring instrumentation, the Kizzmati

 headquarters lay at its far end. They had reached the last partition, the north

 end of the Maze. The unit's internal lights were on, indicating that the distant

 Ciilpaan headquarters continued to function. A Kizzmati banner fluttered

 overhead.

 Beyond the headquarters Ranji thought he could make out a couple of senior

 referees, standing in the shade and chatting idly. They did not see the three

 Ciilpaanians who crouched atop the wall for the simple reason that there was no

 reason for them to look up.

 "The Kizzmati didn't lie," Tourmast murmured. "I don't see any defenders."

 "That doesn't mean they didn't install some kind of defense." Ranji pointed.

 Stretching in a sweeping curve from one wall to the other immediately in front

 of the headquarters instrumentation was an exquisitely camouflaged ditch. Ranji

 admired the workmanship. At ground level it would be quite invisible. An

 attacker getting this far and seeing no defenders in sight would likely rush

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 across the last open space to touch the switch on the beacon mast and proclaim

 victory, only to stumble into the wonderfully well-concealed trap. The entire

 Kizzmati team must have set to work in an orgy of excavation the instant the

 Trial had begun, moving out only after it had been completed. They'd had the

 time to install such a complex defense only because they'd known from the

 beginning the shortest path through the Maze.

 Though you couldn't design something whose intent was to physically injure an

 opponent, he suspected that anyone falling into the ditch would not find it a

 simple matter to climb out.

 "See," Weenn was saying as he pointed. "It goes all the way from one wall to the

 other, and it's too wide to jump. Cozzinza's squad could have made it all this

 way only to be trapped or stopped at the last minute."

 Ranji was nodding to himself as he studied the layout. "No trees in this

 partition; only grains. Nothing to build a bridge with. No wonder their squad

 leader was so confident. They were sure they had an unstoppable offense and an

 impregnable defense."

 Weenn shook his head slowly. "No way we could have won with normal tactics."

 "So we'll use abnormal ones."

 Tourmast was frowning. "Not only is there nothing to build a bridge with here,

 there're no trees to climb, either. How do we get down?"

 "Quickly." Ranji squinted south through Maze haze. Having long since overwhelmed

 Birachii's squad, the Kizzmatis were doubtless moving fast toward the Ciilpaani

 headquarters.

 The internal walls of the Maze were perfectly smooth, perfectly vertical. An

 insect could not find a purchase on that slick surface.

 Ranji rose from his crouch to regard his companions. "Weenn, cross around. I'm

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 going to have the two of you drop me."

 "I dunno, Ranji." Tourmast was estimating the height of the drop. "It won't do

 us any good if you break both legs."

 "It won't do us any good to squat up here wondering, either.'' Turning, he knelt

 and gripped the edge of the wall as best he could with both hands, then lowered

 himself over the edge.

 His companions lay down on their stomachs and pressed their thighs and knees

 against the opposite side of the wall. Each took one of Ranji's wrists in their

 hands and lowered him another half body length toward the waving, beckoning

 grain below. It was at that moment that one of the referees spotted them. Ranji

 decided that the look on his face was worth everything it had taken to get to

 this point, even if he and his friends were eventually disqualified.

 Shutting his eyes, he ran through a series of relaxation exercises. When he was

 through there was nothing more to be done but to do it. ' 'Okay,'' he whispered

 brusquely. The restraining pressure on his wrists vanished.

 It seemed a million minutes to the ground. He flexed his knees as he struck, but

 the impact was still considerable. The shock ran from his feet all the way up to

 his neck and he crumpled onto his right side.

 When he tried to stand, the shooting pain that blasted through his left leg

 brought him back to the ground. Whether it was broken or simply badly twisted he

 didn't know. He crawled for a while, then managed to straighten by using the

 unyielding wall as a brace against his back. Limping severely, pain dulling his

 vision, he stumbled toward the Kizzmati headquarters beacon.

 His friends had dropped him behind the defensive ditch, so the only thing that

 was stopping him from flipping the switch on the beacon was the pain that

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 threatened to overwhelm his senses. He knew Tourmast and Weenn must be cheering

 him on, though he couldn't hear them. They were above the inversion layer.

 Having stopped at the Maze entrance, the two senior referees stared openmouthed

 at the advancing limping figure. Ranji could hear people running toward the

 site, though the pain made it impossible for him to identify individual shapes.

 There were a few cheers, but mostly the air was dense with stunned silence.

 He felt himself weaving and swaying and fought to stay erect and keep moving

 through the pain. It was entirely up to him, he knew. Neither Weenn nor Tourmast

 could take such a fall.

 He wondered how close the Kizzrnatis were to his own headquarters as he threw

 himself forward to slam an open palm against the beacon switch. He was very

 careful to hit it the first time because he sensed through fading thoughts that

 he would not be able to muster enough strength or control for a second try.

 As it turned out, they beat the Kizzmatis by less than four minutes.

 Chapter Three

  

 To say that the outcome of that particular Finals Trial was controversial was to

 say that the monsters were somewhat incorrect in their opposition to the tenets

 of civilized society. Debate roiled the general population as well as the Trials

 committee for days thereafter.

 In the end it was decided that since the rules barred only physical violence

 from the competition, everything else must be allowed. And since the Kizzmatis

 had been the first to utilize what the committee referred to euphemistically as

 "unorthodox tactics," they could hardly object to the Ciilpaanians responding in

 similar fashion.

 Ranji's group was declared winner.

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 The decision produced no animosity among the losers. There was no shame in

 finishing second in a worldwide contest, and after all, their ultimate aim, the

 advance of civilization and the conversion or defeat of the monsters, remained

 the same. The Kizzmati group leader went out of his way to congratulate Ranji on

 his inspired leadership.

 "We were lucky," Ranji told him. "Extremely lucky. I could just as easily have

 crippled myself."

 "In the end we underestimated you," the Kizzmati replied. "We were convinced we

 had devised a plan that could not fail. I now believe that plans of that nature

 are inevitably doomed to failure."

 They sat together in a young persons' eating establishment, sharing strategies

 and stories as though both groups had won, which indeed they had.

 "Wouldn't you have been confident? We had overwhelming firepower, a map of the

 Maxe, and a solid defensive scheme."

 "I sure would." Ranji was gracious in victory.

 The Kizzmati leader sipped from a cup. "The one thing we didn't count on was an

 opponent capable of thinking more perverted than ours." He grinned and they all

 laughed softly together.

 Except for the ever somber Weenn. "I wonder what fighting the monsters will be

 like?"

 "It doesn't matter." The last Trial over, Ranji was brimming with confidence and

 self-esteem. "We will defeat them no matter what stratagems they may choose to

 employ.''

 "They win a lot of battles." The Kizzmati second-in-command gazed into his

 drink. "It's said that in one-on-one combat they can't be beaten."

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 "They've never met anything like us," Tourmast shot back. "Our great Kouuad says

 that we're as good as them, maybe better, and he should know. He fought them for

 years."

 "I'm sure we'll get the chance to find out," Ranji murmured.

 "Myself, I can't wait." Tourmast made a melodramatic show of raising his cup.

 Comrades together now, Kizzmati and Ciilpaani toasted their future.

 The future arrived sooner than they expected, immediately following their

 official graduation the following year to warrior rank, and in a manner that

 surprised them all.

 Those who had achieved high scores expected to be promoted to officer status and

 given command of fighting units. Instead, the top hundred achievers were

 combined into a unique fast-attack group, to be utilized in special situations.

 Disappointment was minimal, as it meant that childhood friends would stay

 together instead of being spread across the cosmos.

 Despite all his training, despite years of anticipation, Ranji was surprised to

 discover how upset he was at the prospect of leaving Cossuut.

 They were a year older. Faster, stronger, smarter, he and his friends were

 confident of their ability to handle anything the monsters could send against

 them. They were all impatient to test their skills in real combat.

 Their destination was a planet called Koba, a lightly populated world where

 recently settled monsters had established a foothold against the forces of

 civilization. In such conditions a small, irresistible force could hopefully

 achieve results all out of proportion to its size.

 They had real weapons now, explosive and energy both. No more training pistols.

 No more simulations and partitions and mazes. No more toys. Ranji had been

 appointed second-in-command after the Kizzmati veteran Soratii-eev, perhaps

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 because of the difference in their ages. Ranji did not feel in the least

 slighted. Soratii was a clever and accomplished commander, and it would be an

 honor to serve under him.

 If the new soldiers were intimidated by anything, it was the confidence far more

 senior soldiers placed in their prospects.

 As they prepared for emergence from Underspace and the subsequent rapid drop to

 Koba's contested surface, Ranji found he was surprisingly calm. Regardless of

 what they might face on the surface below he had unlimited confidence in his

 colleagues, no matter whether they hailed from Ciilpaan, Kizzmat, or elsewhere

 on Cossuut. Together they constituted a cohesive fighting unit the likes of

 which civilization had never seen before.

 Furthermore, they were motivated by something few others possessed: a desire, a

 need, for revenge.

 Ranji wasn't thinking of that as the Underspace emergence warning sounded. He

 was thinking of his parents; of his younger brother Saguio who was now

 undergoing the same testing Ranji had passed in such accomplished fashion. Of

 his little sister Cynsa, and of his birth parents. Others might fight to protect

 their friends, to defend the cause of civilization, but he would fight so that

 he could return to those he loved.

 Koba was a blessedly cool world distinguished by rolling grassy plains and high,

 heavily treed plateaus. Though diverse in content, the local ecosystem was

 unspectacular, dominated by the dense evergreen forests of the plateaus. Animal

 life tended to frequent the green canopy or burrow underground. Large predators

 were unknown, possibly due to the absence of ground cover in the form of bushes

 and high grasses in which prey animals could hide and thrive. There was no

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 native intelligent species.

 A hundred years before, the enemy had placed a number of scientific

 installations on Koba. They'd held it ever since. Large-scale colonization had

 commenced only recently. It was the kind of expansion civilized beings had to

 contest. The enemy had resisted, thus far successfully, expanding their local

 production of domestic food animals and grains. They had also begun to exploit

 Koba's mineral deposits. The place was in danger of becoming a significant

 contributor to the war effort. Not a particularly rich world, but one whose

 resources were definitely worth denying to the spreading forces of evil.

 Major forces could not be spared to attack Koba, but it was decided that one or

 two quick surgical strikes might render the enemy's position there less than

 tenable. While substantial, planetary defenses were widely dispersed. It would

 take time to bring them to bear on an assault.

 This was confirmed by the fact that Ranji's group was able to make the drop to

 the surface without incident and with all their equipment intact. Nor were they

 forced to deal with immediate opposition. Perhaps the locals were confused by

 the size of the invasion, on the face of it far too small to present any real

 threat. They would be even more unsettled by the movements of Ranji's group,

 which in a radical departure from traditional strategy had been empowered to

 operate independent of the rest of the landing force.

 The new, high-performance air-repulsion skids the attackers brought for surface

 travel were virtually noiseless. Their minimal heat signature allowed the strike

 force to advance rapidly under cover of night. While other groups engaged local

 defenses, Ranji's simply raced out over the flat plains, bypassing enemy

 positions on several occasions.

 They were heading for the high country, their target the communications and

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 information center for the most heavily populated portion of the planet. Despite

 the speed of their advance there was some question as to whether they would even

 get into position to attack. Within a day of their touchdown, enemy opposition

 had stiffened to the point of wiping out several assault groups, and Command was

 forced to consider calling a quick retreat off-world. Fortunately, enough senior

 officers demurred. But if they expected to remain on Koba, they would have to

 show some progress.

 Ranji's group continued to avoid detection by the enemy. In that respect they

 had already proved their worth.

 The communications complex was located on the outskirts of the major population

 center, which itself was strung out along the edge of one of the numerous high

 plateaus which dominated Koban topography. The plateau sloped down to the

 plains. It was from there that Ranji's group intended to make their final push.

 Instead of landing and attacking atop the plateau as the enemy would expect,

 Soratii and his advisors had decided to cross the plain below and work their way

 up a shallow canyon, following a cascading river system. Only when they had

 begun to ascend was their presence finally detected and the alarm passed to the

 city's defenders.

 Ranji's group threw back one counterattack after another as they continued to

 move upslope, traveling in twos and threes to further confuse an already badly

 rattled enemy. They advanced on both sides of the white-water cataract, whose

 noise and constant motion further served to mask their approach. Light

 camouflage armor blocked individual heat signatures, so that the defenders were

 forced to try and pinpoint each oncoming soldier visually.

 Fighting became fragmented as the terrain grew steeper and more difficult, with

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 squads unable to effectively support one another. As geology was neutral in any

 conflict, the enemy was forced to deal with the same problem. This led to a

 chaotic battlefield situation, especially at night. Ranji's people throve in the

 resulting confusion.

 Flashes of light from energy weapons and continual explosions filled his senses

 as he ascended. They soon found themselves in among the large trees and dense

 tracts of forest which clung to the upper slopes, rendering fighting even more

 difficult. Thanks to the presence of running water they were able to travel

 lighter than usual. Even in an era of advanced instrumentation and sophisticated

 weaponry, the absence of clean water could still be more debilitating to troops

 on the move than heavy explosives.

 Ranji was thankful for the presence of the dense vegetation, which screened them

 from aerial surveillance. With luck and camouflage suits, they would be on top

 of the communications complex before the enemy knew what hit them. If they could

 destroy that it would not only panic the local population, it would put a

 considerable crimp in the enemy's efforts to coordinate a planetary defense. An

 intense firefight broke out off to his immediate left, on the far side of the

 river. They were close enough to the run of the plateau now to see the first of

 many communications antennae protruding into the night sky, though the

 structures from which they sprouted were still concealed by slope and trees.

 Closed-beam communicators on both sides were frenetic with shouted orders and

 reports.

 Ignoring the difficulties of his compatriots on the other side of the cascade,

 Ranji led his own group onward.

 They had just crested the rim when they ran into the enemy squad, advancing

 cautiously through deepening twilight. The defenders were in the process of

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 crossing the river, intent on joining what they perceived to be the major

 engagement taking place just below.

 Ranji waited until the enemy troops were halfway across before giving the order

 for his people to open fire from the cover of rocks and trees. That their

 presence was still unsuspected was confirmed by the surprise among the defenders

 as they were attacked. Those caught out in midstream had nowhere to run, though

 from Ranji's standpoint too many escaped. Most went down, either on the rocks or

 in the water itself. Limp and lifeless, one body after another was lifted by the

 current and carried downstream. The survivors scattered back into the forest.

 It offered Ranji his first opportunity to examine the monsters at close range.

 Only a few of the corpses were wearing armor or camouflage, further proof that

 the assault had caught the defenders of the communications complex unaware.

 Given its strategic importance, Ranji was surprised. Overconfidence, or simply a

 lack of adequate preparation? Clearly they hadn't expected any of the invaders

 to come this far this fast.

 Tourmast knelt and rolled one of the bodies over. Only the upper half was

 armored. A gaping hole showed darkly in the lower portion of the abdomen. Though

 Ranji had studied innumerable images of the monsters, it was still something of

 a shock to view one close up.

 Just as in the tridimensional imagery he'd been exposed to as a student, the

 similarities were impressive. There was little enough to differentiate him from

 the body on the ground. Physically, that is, he reminded himself. Mentally and

 morally the gulf between himself and the creature that lay dead in the dirt was

 vast.

 "We don't want to linger here," he muttered uncomfortably. "Let's keep moving."

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 Tourmast grunted and rose as Ranji checked in with the rest of his group via

 communicator.

 The squads on the other side of the river had been hurt, but had quickly beaten

 back the counterattack and regrouped. They were moving upslope again and were

 not far from Ranji's present advanced position. The single enemy slider which

 had come a-hunting with heavy weapons had been shot down. As they had hoped, the

 majority of the enemy's ordnance was occupied farther south, engaging larger

 elements of the invasion. Their opposition was lightly armed.

 They expected to encounter heavier resistance as they spread out and raced

 toward the target, and were pleasantly surprised to find little in the way of

 opposition. Brushing that aside, they entered the complex and methodically took

 it apart. The communications personnel had fled just ahead of them. After every

 piece of instrumentation had been melted or otherwise dismantled, the buildings

 themselves were reduced to ashes. Ranji regarded his group's handiwork proudly.

 It would be a long, long time before anyone dispatched so much as a friendly

 greeting from this location.

 They departed just as enemy reinforcements began to arrive from the nearby city,

 leaving them to contemplate the total destruction of the communications complex

 as well as the absence of its perpetrators, who were already retreating rapidly

 under cover of night.

 Halfway down, the slope leveled off enough for them to use their skids. Now it

 would be difficult if not impossible for the enemy to catch them, Ranji thought

 with satisfaction. Rather than being tired, he found that he was eager to embark

 on the next operation. His colleagues and friends shared his feelings.

 The following morning the enemy did its best to cut them off. Maybe they

 expected the ravagers of the communications complex to be exhausted from the

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 previous night's activities. Ranji's group smashed through them, not even

 deigning to take up a defensive posture and wait for assistance.

 An enemy female slung her slider alongside, firing as she did so. He evaded,

 whirled, and came back atop her. As he shot her at close range it occurred to

 him that she was rather pretty, for a monster. There was, however, nothing to

 love in the brief glimpse he had of her distorted, unnaturally gaunt face.

 Trailing smoke and flame, her craft slammed into the dry plain below.

 A heavier attack came later that evening. This time large aircraft were

 involved. We really upset them, Ranji mused as he glanced backward and smiled.

 The enemy was furiously engaged in demolishing the decoy vehicles his group had

 left behind for just such a purpose.

 By the next morning the numerous skids and their triumphant operators were

 streaking unopposed across rolling plains, well beyond range of attack.

 Their initial mission had been a complete success. In addition, the group had

 sustained minimal casualties, remarkable considering the riskiness of the

 operation and the fact that monsters had been prominent in the defense of the

 complex.

 Ranji took time to visit the wounded. All were in good spirits, not in the least

 depressed by their injuries. Among the special assault group's personnel, only

 two had been lost. All of the injured had been successfully evacuated and were

 intact enough to be medically restored. It was an unprecedented accomplishment.

 The destruction of the facility had seriously complicated the Kobans' defense.

 Non-Cossuutian Ashregan and Crigolit forces which had been pushed back used the

 resultant confusion for a breathing spell, and in two instances were actually

 able to resume their advance.

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 Though Ranji and his friends were anxious to return to combat, they were

 informed by their superiors that they were too valuable to risk so soon in

 another similar operation. Instead, to their considerable disappointment, they

 were ordered off-world.

 "You've earned your reward," a senior officer informed him as they chatted on

 board the transport ship. It hovered safely in Underspace, in orbit around

 Koba's single moon.

 "But righting on Koba continues," Ranji protested. "We can help. We can ..."

 "You did what you were brought here to do," the officer informed him brusquely.

 Then she added, more gently,

 "I myself do not know why you were evacuated. I personally think your mere

 presence below would be a considerable asset to our efforts. Everyone knows of

 your group's accomplishments. But it is not for me to question. My orders were

 to see your people taken safely off-planet. Command is not always generous with

 explanations."

 "What now?" Disappointed but resigned, Ranji leaned back in the lounge and

 crossed his legs.

 "I believe you are to be singularly honored," the officer informed him.

 "How can anyone be honored for one operation?" Tourmast fingered the skintight

 attached to his forehead, where he'd been grazed by an enemy energy bolt. Skin

 and bone were healing nicely, Ranji noticed. "Especially when the battle has yet

 to be won.''

 "It is not for me to say." As the officer spoke she idly caressed the knuckles

 of her left hand.

 "And when is this 'singular honor' to be bestowed?" Tourmast muttered.

 "Soon after your return home, I believe." Noting their reaction, she added, "I

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 see that you have not yet been informed. Allow me the privilege. I am informed

 that the Teachers intend to commend you personally.''

 Weenn spoke up from nearby. "Ah. That will be real joy for Kouuad."

 "No." The officer looked at him. "Not your teacher. The Teachers."

 Ranji tried to prepare himself mentally as the transport sped through Underspace

 toward Cossuut. His emotions were mixed. While he was delighted at the prospect

 of seeing his family again, as a soldier he regretted leaving Koba unsecured. He

 had not expected his initial combat experience to be so ... episodic. Perhaps

 next time they would be allowed to stay and fight until the world being

 contested had been won for civilization.

 There were worse fates, though, than being plucked from the field of battle to

 suffer exaltation and honor.

 Not only was the Cossuutian media saturated with the news of their

 accomplishments, their arrival was recorded for rebroadcast throughout the

 civilized worlds. The military made a great show of it, presenting the heroes of

 Koba to the public one by one in the capital city's largest outdoor

 amphitheater. The ceremony seemed to go on forever, and the heroic fighters soon

 found themselves dreadfully bored.

 Officialdom saved the leaders of the attack, the group officers, for last,

 developing the presentation as efficiently as if they'd been orchestrating a

 piece of music. Soratii, Ranji, Tourmast, and the others dutifully took their

 respective turns at the podium.

 What most impressed Ranji when his turn came was not the surging crowd, the

 plethora of recording devices, or even the knowledge that his parents and

 siblings were in the front row of the audience. It was his sudden proximity to

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 two of the Teachers.

 Warmth and affection poured from them to envelop not only those on the brightly

 decorated stage but all who were fortunate enough to be in their immediate

 vicinity. As had those who'd preceded him, Ranji approached and extended a hand.

 The four manipulative digits at the end of one tentacle opened like a flower,

 then closed with the silky softness of shy petals around his closed fist. A warm

 rush of admiration and thanks filled his mind.

 How wonderful it was, he thought, to have achieved his life's dream. To be

 honored for doing what he would gladly have done in anonymity. To be alive, and

 healthy, and assisting the advance of civilization. The Amplitur's digits

 withdrew. Mentally and emotionally elated, Ranji pivoted smartly and returned to

 his place on the dais.

 One-who-Surrounds was feeling much wellness. The local weather was amenable, and

 the excitement and reverence their visit had generated among the Ashregan was

 gratifying to behold. Though they did not know it, the proceedings honoring the

 special fighters was another graduation ceremony of sorts. It signified the

 official success of the Project, in which the Amplitur had invested a

 substantial amount of time and effort. It was a great day for the Purpose.

 Though the weather was pleasant, One-who-Surrounds was still less than optimally

 comfortable. The Ashregan preferred drier worlds than the Amplitur, and it was

 something of a sacrifice for One-who-Surrounds and its companion to remain

 exposed to the desiccating air for such a long period. But could they have done

 any less to honor the fruits of the Project?

 It had been a long time aborning, and had involved the most intense efforts of

 the Amplitur and their Ashregan allies. To see those hopes so powerfully

 fulfilled, and ahead of schedule, was more than sufficient justification for the

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 somewhat uncomfortable visit. When one served the Purpose with one's whole

 being, one could not fuss at inconsequentials such as temperature and humidity.

 It was touching to observe the pleasure their mere presence induced in their

 allies. One-who-Surrounds was curious to see how the special fighters would

 react, but it was no different for them. There was the same receptivity, the

 same calm acceptance and mutual admiration one would find among any ordinary

 Ashregan.

 Except that this group was not ordinary. They had proven that already, on Koba,

 succeeding beyond the wildest hopes of the Project's supervisors. The fighting

 abilities and unique characteristics which they had been bred for would be

 passed on to succeeding generations, to the betterment of the Purpose. Another

 carefully chosen field test or two and the survivors would be retired with

 honors, encouraged to produce as many offspring as possible. They would want to

 continue fighting, of course, since that was what they had been trained to do,

 but in the end all would accept their retirement gracefully. The Amplitur would

 suggest that they do so.

 They did not mention any of this to the individuals they honored. It would be

 impolitic to refer to members of an allied species as breeding stock, just as it

 would have been counterproductive to inform them that certain of the specialized

 characteristics they would pass on to their offspring were not natural in origin

 but rather the results of unsurpassed Amplitur efforts at nanobioengineering.

 Even as One-who-Surrounds congratulated the heroes of Koba, efforts continued to

 refine and expand the scope of the work which had produced them. Success could

 always be improved upon. The scientists of the obstructionist Weave did not rest

 in their efforts to thwart the Purpose. Those who promulgated its tenets could

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 do no less.

 One-who-Surrounds looked forward to the results of the next test, in which the

 special fighters would be asked to confront fully operational Human forces. If

 they could de.-feat not merely Massood or Chirinaldo but Human soldiers in

 direct combat, then the triumph of the Project would be assured. The effect on

 Weave morale would be devastating.

 Turning to face the audience, One-who-Surrounds raised both tentacles, spreading

 all eight manipulative digits wide in a gesture of greeting and unity. A wave of

 genuine warmth and appreciation flowed out to wash over those in the front rows.

 The bulbous eyes, each on the end of its short stalk, swiveled independently to

 survey the native crowd as it cheered softly.

 Following the ceremony's conclusion, One-who-Surrounds was relieved to retire to

 a room in which the humidity had been raised to meet Amplitur requirements. The

 itching which had begun to torment its mottled orange skin began to fade. It was

 no longer necessary to use drops to keep sensitive eyes moist.

 Green-goes-Softly settled into a hammocklike lounge nearby. The large, dark

 blotch on its dorsal side indicated that the other Amplitur had recently budded,

 giving birth to a new individual.

 "I thought it went well."

 "Wellness aplenty," One-who-Surrounds concurred. "They honor their heroes."

 "As well they should after what they accomplished on Koba." Green-goes-Softly

 rolled slightly, into a more comfortable position, straddling the lounge for

 maximum support. "I sensed in the favored ones no indication of deviation or

 genetic degeneration."

 "Nor did I." Disdaining the other empty lounge, One-who-Surrounds settled into a

 shallow pool of warm, scented water. "All the reports have been accurate."

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 "I wish we could have gone to Koba to monitor them in person."

 "You know why we did not. Personal danger aside, our presence would have been a

 burden on the regular Ash-regan troops, much less the progeny of the Project. In

 active combat against Human beings our presence is a hindrance." Its skin

 rippled, showing iridescent silver highlights.

 "They defeated Humans on their own ground," Green-goes-Softly murmured. "It is a

 wonderful thing. According to the reports I have seen, the Humans were much

 surprised."

 "As well they should have been." One-who-Surrounds waxed philosophical. "In such

 small ways does the mental disintegration of an enemy begin. Not only were the

 fighters successful in their military objectives, they were happy in their work.

 The Purpose could ask for nothing more."

 Green-goes-Softly gestured with a tentacle. "For all their Ashregan upbringing

 they fight as well as any Humans. The nanobioengineers have done their work

 exceedingly well. Their alterations have taken perfectly. The overriding desire

 of the special fighters, like that of their less well-endowed fellow Ashregan,

 is but to serve the Purpose."

 "Yes. It means that the end of the Weave can be envisioned."

 Green-goes-Softly knew that the end One-who-Surrounds spoke of might lie several

 hundred years in the future, but the Amplitur took a longer view of things than

 most species. Their patience extended well beyond individual lifetimes. It

 allowed them to wait for new special fighters to enter the fray, and for the

 genetic alterations which had been performed on those already serving the cause

 to be passed on to other fighters as yet unconceived.

 "It is still a risky business." Scented water sloshed gently around the bulk of

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 One-who-Surrounds.

 ' 'I know, but thus far there is only success to show for it. With luck and

 skill, the Project will continue to prosper."

 "There are still those among the brethren who think it unwise, even dangerous."

 Green-goes-Softly mentally envisioned a shrug. "One must take risks in war. Our

 ancestors took many as with far simpler resources they spread the Purpose across

 the cosmos. We, too, must be bold. Our ancestors never had to confront a

 sociobiological aberration as extreme as Humankind. New difficulties call for

 new ways of thinking, new countermeasures. The continued success of the Project

 will assuage the doubters."

 "I concur. I feel wellness about it." One-who-Surrounds retracted its eyestalks,

 luxuriating in the warm water, pleased to be again in dark, damp surroundings

 instead of the dry bright light favored by so many of their allies.

 Chapter Four

  

 A morose and dejected Fifth-of-Medicine squatted beneath the towering tree. Warm

 rain trickled down his dirty green scales to nurture the mud below as he sat

 contemplating his unnatural fate.

 Truly he should not have been there, was not supposed to be in a combat area.

 The Hivistahm were not fighters. With proper training, some of them could be

 counted on to serve as support personnel. That was more than could be said for

 the too-civilized Wais or Motar.

 Actual fighting, a barbarity most races had difficulty contemplating, was left

 to those species in whom the requisite primitive genes had been retained:

 Massood and, increasingly, Humans. The relentless, horrible, wonderful, utterly

 unpredictable Humans.

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 But there were only so many Massood, so many Humans. Other races had to back

 them up by providing necessary logistical support. That task fell to such as the

 Bir'rimor, the Lepar, the O'o'yan . . . and the Hivistahm.

 A fine medical technician skilled in multiple species repair, Fifth-of-Medicine

 had been assigned to what for a Hivistahm constituted a forward battle position:

 emergency physiotech on a rear battle-control sled. He did not expect to be

 exposed to combat, much less to experience it. But that was precisely what had

 happened when the combined Ashregan-Crigolit force had surprised the attack

 group.

 Like everyone else he had heard the rumors that the enemy had begun

 experimenting with new and untraditional strategies, and like everyone else he

 had dismissed them out of hand. The events of the morning had transformed him

 instantly from skeptic to true believer. Perhaps if there had been more Humans

 in the sector the attack might have been beaten off. But they were widely

 scattered across the surface of contested Eirrosad, and there had been few on

 his command vessel or its escorting sliders.

 After taking several direct hits, the badly crippled transport sled had turned

 to flee, scraping the jungle canopy as it did so. As it pivoted on its repulsion

 axis an internal explosion had sent it slamming into a giant forest emergent. It

 skewed wildly before finally recovering to shudder on its way, shimmying on its

 stabilizers.

 But not before the impact had pitched half a dozen crewmembers through a gaping

 hole in its side and into the foliage below.

 Only two of the six had survived the fall, the otherwise fatal plunge cushioned

 for them by fortuitously placed branches and leaves. The others had not been so

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 lucky.

 By some miracle he had landed in the top of a densely foliated tree, the

 reedlike upper branches slowing his descent before bending to deposit him, one

 level at a time, onto similar growths below, until he was finally dumped,

 bruised but otherwise undamaged, into a puddle of soft mud.

 The same mud which had saved his life made fighting on Eirrosad's surface an

 untenable proposition. Combat was largely restricted to encounters between Weave

 sliders and enemy floaters, which could dart and hide among the trees and vines.

 Only the foolish or suicidal would think of trying to conduct a battle on the

 mushy, planetwide morass which passed for ground. So the surface was left to the

 specialized native fauna best equipped to cope with it.

 And to the unfortunate such as himself. Truly.

 He was stuck in the middle of the hostile wilderness the ever irreverent Humans

 had dubbed the Sludgel: part swamp, part jungle, mostly muck. Without

 communicator, weapon, or armor. All he had to help him survive was his green

 physiotech uniform with its attendant equipment, and his wits. He placed little

 confidence in either. Even his footgear worked against him: high-laced sandals

 instead of bog boots. He was grudgingly grateful for the overhead vegetation

 which kept a little of the rain off his scaly scalp.

 At least, he thought, the ambient temperature amenable is, and the natives not a

 worry are. Poor and backward, they lived in transitory jungle villages raised

 above the ooze on cleverly interwoven stilts, marveling at the incomprehensible

 forces which contested for control of their world. The Eirrosadians were the

 second truly tripedal intelligence ever discovered, which made them rather more

 interesting from a scientific than strategic point of view. By the same token,

 civilized morality demanded that despite their backwardness they should not be

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 abandoned to the manipulative mercies of the Amplitur and their allies. None

 could say but that in a thousand years or so they might contribute significantly

 to the war effort.

 He adjusted his eyeshades, which had defied all the laws of physics by clinging

 to his face despite his violent ejection from the sled and subsequent fall.

 Their presence contributed significantly to what little comfort remained to him.

 Reflecting his emotional state, his skin had lost its bright green shininess and

 turned a dull olive hue. At least it would make him hard for the enemy to spot

 if they decided to make a visual search of the canopy for survivors.

 Beneath the shades, double eyelids blinked at his depressing surroundings. The

 absence of the bright sunshine so favored by the Hivistahm contributed to his

 emotional funk. Silently he damned the clouds which blocked out the sun, the

 rain they gave birth to, and the circumstances which had deposited him in this

 place.

 He considered his situation, quite aware as he did so that it would not improve

 upon reflection. They were an unknown but surely considerable distance from the

 nearest forward Weave outpost, which as near as he could estimate lay to the

 south of their present position. He hadn't devoted much attention to such

 matters on board the sled, since there was no need for him to be aware of them.

 Now he was paying for his indifference.

 It was going to be a long walk.

 They would have to experiment with local foodstuffs, but water obviously

 wouldn't be a problem. Taste was something else again.

 That would likely not be a problem for his fellow survivor, whom he regarded

 distastefully. Not satisfied with placing him in this ridiculous position, the

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 fates had decided to heap irony atop discomfort by giving him for companionship

 on the arduous trek to come not another of his own kind, not a Massood or Human

 to protect him, not even an attentive O'o'yan or sardonic S'van.

 No. He was going to have to travel with a Lepar. With a representative of the

 Weave's slowest-thinking, dullest species. It did not boost his spirits to know

 that the amphibious Lepar was far better equipped than he to survive an extended

 sojourn in the Eirrosadian ecozone.

 His name was Itepu, and he seemed agreeable enough despite his innate handicaps.

 He'd been a low-level maintenance assistant aboard the command sled. As was

 characteristic of his kind, his work had been repetitious and often dirty.

 Standing there in his simple uniform of shorts and vest, his slick tail

 switching reflexively, webbed hind feet buried in mud, he did not look half as

 uncomfortable as Fifth-of-Medicine felt. Though half his tools were missing, the

 Lepar's service belt still held equipment that might prove useful during the

 long march ahead.

 His left arm dangled by his side. Badly sprained in the fall, it was the first

 thing Fifth-of-Medicine had tended to when they'd stumbled into each other while

 searching for fellow unfortunates.

 The medic regarded the Lepar's coccygeal appendage. Imagine an intelligent race

 that still retained a tail! Tiny black eyes and an enormously wide mouth

 contributed to an overweening impression of bland stupidity. Yet the Lepar were

 not stupid. Merely unclever. And as devoted to the defeat of the Purpose as far

 more intelligent species, Fifth-of-Medicine reminded himself.

 Itepu slogged over to the medic's tree, ignoring the rain which ran in rivulets

 down his green-brown, slightly slimy skin. "Where we go, and when, friend

 Hivistahm?"

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 "How know should I?" A disconsolate Fifth-of-Medicine adjusted his translator as

 he gestured in a vaguely southward direction with a long, delicate, claw-tipped

 finger.

 The Lepar stood silently for a while, listening to the rain and fiddling with

 his own speaker and earplug while waiting for the higher-ranking Hivistahm to

 move. "We should go soon," he said finally. "Enemy in this area."

 "I do not think so." Fifth-of-Medicine slid off the root on which he'd been

 brooding, wincing as his legs sank ankle-deep into the fetid, clinging muck.

 "The battle over is and we have not any shooting for some time heard."

 "Rain makes hearing hard."

 The physiotech restrained himself. Simply because the Lepar were slow did not

 mean they were always wrong.

 "You are probably correct. We should this area leave."

 Better to die out here, he thought, than to be taken alive. Captives were

 sometimes turned over to the Amplitur for mental "adjustment." A portion of the

 mind wiped out here, another small section replaced there, and a prisoner was

 transformed without its consent into a useful agent for the Purpose. He

 shuddered as he slogged off southward.

 A thin film of water covered the boggy surface, magnifying the deceptively solid

 appearance of the soil beneath. The polite Itepu matched his pace to that of his

 considerably slower companion.

 By evening they had covered more ground than the medic dared hope. As they sat

 beneath a sheltering leaf the size of a small vehicle eating a peculiar purplish

 fruit the Lepar had picked, Fifth-of-Medicine felt a little better about their

 situation. They were in good health and thus far untroubled by the local fauna.

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 He allowed himself to imagine that they might actually have a chance of reaching

 the outpost.

 As near as he could remember, that blessed destination lay on the western shore

 of a wide, meandering river which ran roughly north-south. If they could make it

 that far, they could build some kind of raft to carry them the rest of the way

 downstream to safety. He swatted at something tiny, orange, and persistent. If

 the local arthropodan life didn't suck all the blood out of them first, he told

 himself.

 He could envision himself among family again, both close and extended. He even

 managed to meditate for a while, the Lepar observing him silently as he sat

 cross-legged in the mud, eyes tightly shut, his back to the imaginary

 contemplation circle. Warm, bright sunshine and hot, dry sand filled his

 stabilizing thoughts, relaxing him, restoring mental balance.

 After a while Itepu turned away and began digging in the mud for things to eat.

 By morning the rain had gentled to an occasional light drizzle, and

 Fifth-of-Medicine's scales began to dry out. His misery quotient fell

 perceptibly. By midday he was feeling well enough to stride through the

 undergrowth with some confidence.

 They had survived, and would doubtless be feted as heroes upon their return.

 Even Massood and Humans would have to acknowledge their achievement. Among such

 hopeful musings Fifth-of-Medicine found time to admire the profusion of

 chromatically hued jungle flowers.

 "Do you like your work?"

 "What?" The medic glanced sideways at his lugubrious companion. They were making

 camp for the evening.

 Shiny black eyes looked back at him. "Your work. Do you like doing it?"

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 As the Lepar were not famed for initiating conversation, Fifth-of-Medicine was

 somewhat startled by the question. It took him a moment to formulate a reply.

 "Truly. I am at what I do very good and hope someday to be a third- or even a

 second-of-medicine called." To his own surprise he found himself adding, "What

 about you?''

 "I don't think about it much." Itepu yawned, his wide mouth seeming to split his

 face in half. The dark gullet gaped. "I just do what I was trained to do."

 Fifth-of-Medicine was building a bower of leaves and broken twigs. "Sometimes I

 think it is better that way. Hard it is to see others suffering and not be

 always able to help. Like the others who out of the sled were thrown but did not

 survive the explosion or fall. Nothing for them could I do. Truly."

 "You did what you could. Tell me: If any enemy was hurt here, would you try to

 help it?"

 It was surprising enough for a Lepar to initiate a conversation. For one to

 venture a philosophical query bordered on the shocking.

 "Truly I do not know. That is something / have not thought about. It would on

 the specific circumstances depend."

 When Itepu digested this without replying, Fifth-of-Medicine felt oddly cheated.

 It was still on his mind when he rose to wash his eyes the next morning.

 By then he was more than merely confident. He was convinced they were going to

 make it back. Even the weather cooperated, as the rains remained light. So

 relaxed had he become that he did not jump up from his resting place in panic

 when a clammy hand unexpectedly clutched at his shoulder.

 Itepu was bending over him, making small circular motions with his other hand.

 It took Fifth-of-Medicine a moment to recognize the movement as the Lepar

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 gesture for silence. Puzzled but for the moment compliant, the phys-iotech rose

 and followed his crouching companion into the trees.

 The amphibian halted behind a wall-like buttressing root and gestured. Following

 the pointing finger, the medic nearly let out an involuntary hiss.

 Not far enough away sat a single Human, perhaps one of those who'd manned an

 escort slider. No doubt he'd been shot down by the Crigolit and now found

 himself in straits similar to their own. Fifth-of-Medicine's spirits rose. If

 the creature was armed, he and Itepu would be able to travel the rest of the way

 back to the base in the company of serious protection. In circumstances such as

 theirs it was better to have the companionship of one Human than three or four

 Massood. Humans adapted much better to the heat and humidity of Eirrosad.

 As he started to rise and wave, the Lepar grabbed him and dragged him down. "I

 know what you are thinking." Itepu's face was uncomfortably close to his own.

 "Not Human."

 All four of Fifth-of-Medicine's eyelids blinked impatiently. "What are you

 saying? Of course it Human is."

 "Not."

 "Look at it. At the lanky form, at the proportions. Human it perfectly is."

 Itepu rose slowly to peer over the crest of the root. "Wait and watch."

 Confused and resentful of being handed an order by a lowly Lepar,

 Fifth-of-Medicine complied, but with considerable reluctance.

 After a while the creature rose to methodically survey the surrounding jungle.

 The medic's eyes widened as he hastily ducked back down behind the root.

 "Truly correct you were," he whispered tautly. "Ash-regan it is! With Human

 proportions, but Ashregan." There was no mistaking, he thought uneasily, those

 bony ridges over the ears or the wide eye sockets. It was surely Ashregan,

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 despite its height and build.

 "A giant among Ashregan," Itepu agreed.

 The medic's long tongue commenced to vibrate nervously inside his mouth. "By the

 Circle! It one of the mutant Ashregan fighters may be that so much havoc on Koba

 wrought. They were spoken of as tall, fast-moving, and much stronger than is of

 their kind typical. It is supposed they by the Amplitur from normal Ashregan

 stock bioengineered have been."

 The longer they cautiously observed the creature, the more certain

 Fifth-of-Medicine grew that this indeed was one of the half-mythical altered

 Ashregan warriors. It was taller even than most Humans. In retrospect it was not

 so surprising that he should have misidentified it. After all, the Ashregan bore

 the same kind of superficial external resemblance to Humans as Hivistahm did to

 the smaller but distinctly different O'o'yan.

 He discussed his observations with Itepu, wishing as he did so that the Lepar

 was one of his own kind or even a sardonic but brilliant S'van. He could do with

 a little humor just now.

 "How peculiar it is," he found himself murmuring. "It looks Ashregan but moves

 like a Human."

 "Amplitur bioengineering." Itepu was absolutely convinced of the explanation.

 "They seek to breed Ashregan who will be the equal of Human fighters, so they

 graft Human characteristics onto them."

 Like the isolated incident it was, sudden realization burst in the Lepar's slow

 but persistent brain. A thick black tongue emerged to clean his left eye as he

 spoke.

 "Do you know what this means? Only two specimens of such as this one were found

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 on Koba, both severely damaged. Here is an example that is not only intact, but

 alive. If we could capture it and take it back with us . . ."

 Fifth-of-Medicine was sure his companion could see the bulging orbs behind the

 Hivistahm eyeshades.

 "Are you truly truly mad? Do you not realize what the creature could do? The

 Ashregan fighters are. Hivistahm and Lepar are not."

 "But this is important." The Lepar's insistence was marked by childlike

 directness and simplicity. "It would be useful to Weave specialists who are

 trying to understand what happened on Koba."

 Fifth-of-Medicine clicked the claws on his right hand decisively together. "If

 we near it go, it kill us will. Truly. I refuse absolutely to have anything to

 do with such a crazy idea."

 Itepu stared back at him. Surely he will not try anything on his own, the medic

 thought. Normally a Lepar would display about as much initiative as a vegetable

 drying in the sun.

 His companion took more time than usual to formulate a reply. "If the Amplitur

 have been able to give the Ashregan Human fighting abilities in so short a time,

 it is important that the military council know all about it. It is our

 responsibility to . .

 "Truly in this matter we no responsibility have." Fifth-of-Medicine was

 decisive. "I a fifth-level medical technician and physician am. You a

 maintenance worker are. Let the Massood and Humans specimens capture. Our

 responsibility is to our way to the river make, our return to the nearest

 outpost effect, so that those tasks we may resume."

 Ignoring his companion's protestations, Itepu continued to sneak glances over

 the root. "I think it is wounded. The chance to find one alone and in such

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 circumstances may not happen again soon.''

 While every instinct screamed at him to run, to get away from that place,

 Fifth-of-Medicine was unable to completely submerge his curiosity.

 "Are you sure it hurt is?"

 "Come see how it limps," Itepu whispered down at him.

 The physio tech rose alongside his companion. "Even if the injury substantial

 is, if the creature has been given Human combat abilities, it still more

 dangerous is than the two of us combined. An ordinary Ashregan would be more

 dangerous than the two of us combined." Like any healthy, normal Hivistahm he

 found himself quivering at the very idea of taking part in actual fighting.

 "There are no Humans and no Massood here to help us," Itepu pointed out. "We

 must do this on our own or the opportunity will be lost.''

 "Then let it be lost."

 "I will try to do something alone if I must."

 Better quickly to die, Fifth-of-Medicine thought, than to be trapped in this

 place by himself.

 "What do you suggest?" he heard a voice asking. Astonishingly, it was his own.

 "Charging the creature? We have no weapons."

 "It does not seem to have any, either."

 "Here, let me again look." Fifth-of-Medicine was not about to take the Lepars

 word for it. Though they could see equally well below and above water, the Lepar

 sometimes suffered from shortsightedness. He flipped his protective eyeshades up

 onto his low forehead, where they automatically tightened in place.

 The Ashregan had resumed its seat and was consuming some kind of local fruit.

 Stare as he might, Fifth-of-Medicine could not see so much as a crude club. The

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 creature's clothes were badly torn, revealing blackened splotches on the exposed

 scaleless skin. So in addition to an injured leg, it was suffering from burns

 and exhaustion. It wore no body armor at all. Perhaps it was not even a warrior

 but some kind of frontline technician. Though all Ashregan were trained hi

 fighting techniques, not all were soldiers.

 It is not as if we contemplate capturing a Molitar, he told himself. Nor even,

 he added wryly, a Human. He reconsidered his companion's suggestion. If they

 could do this thing, the merit they would acquire would be substantial. His

 musings in the meditation circle would be honored.

 The alternative was unpleasant. If they tried to capture it and failed, the

 Ashregan might well kill them both. He fumbled at his medic's belt and removed a

 small plasticine cylinder.

 Itepu watched quietly. "What are you doing?"

 "Trying myself to prepare. Be quiet," the Hivistahm hissed. Tilting back his

 head, he put the cylinder to his mouth and swallowed two of the pills it

 ejected. "Field tranquilizers. My reactions will not be affected." He clicked

 the claws of his left hand together. "But I will physical conflict be able to

 contemplate with greater equanimity. I may even actual violent contact be able

 to experience without vomiting."

 "The Lepar are no more warlike than the Hivistahm," his companion reminded him.

 "If that is meant to encourage me, a dismal failure it is. What do you want to

 do? I know nothing about fighting."

 Itepu's tiny black eyes half closed. "We could wait until it sleeps and then

 sneak up and hit it in the head."

 "Brilliant. If we hit it too hard it dies, and if we do not hit it hard enough

 it leaps up and dismembers us."

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 The Lepar considered, straining. "There are two of us. If the first blow is not

 enough, the second one could hit it again."

 Typically complex Lepar cogitation, Fifth-of-Medicine mused. He tried to force

 himself to think like a warrior, ignoring the slight trembling in his limbs and

 the rising queasiness in his gut. The tranquilizers were helping.

 "There are several deep, water-cut holes." He turned and pointed back toward the

 tree among whose root structure they had spent the previous night. ' 'If one of

 us injured pretended to be, he could the creature intrigue and lure this way. We

 could the hole camouflage: put branches and leaves over it. The one injured

 pretending to be could carefully avoid the trap but the pursuing creature in

 would fall."

 "That is a good idea." There was admiration in the Lepar's voice. "I would not

 have thought of it."

 Of course you wouldn't, Fifth-of-Medicine mused sympathetically, but that not

 your fault is. "You will toward the trap the Ashregan lure. I will nearby wait .

 . ." He started to say "with a club" but knew he could never wield a blunt

 instrument with harmful intent and so finished, ". . .to make sure everything

 properly goes."

 His companion regarded him solemnly. "We are not runners." He displayed a webbed

 hind foot. It was bare, the Lepar having discarded his extraneous sandals long

 ago. "We are swift in the water, but not on land. The Hivistahm," he added, with

 sufficient emphasis to startle the medic, "are famed for their sprinting

 abilities."

 How odd, Fifth-of-Medicine thought, that I had not that considered before my

 mouth opening. Itepu was staring at him pointedly.

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 "I cannot that imagine doing. Truly. We will have to something else think of."

 His teeth gnashed lightly, indicative of his distress. "To deliberately induce

 an Ashregan to chase me; no. I could not such a thing do."

 "It would be a brief chase," Itepu argued ingenuously. "Over a modest distance a

 healthy Hivistahm should be able to keep ahead of an injured Ashregan. They have

 short legs."

 "Not this mutant," the medic reminded him. "It legs like a Human has."

 "You only have to cover a little ground. I will ... I will hide in the bushes

 between here and the hole and if the creature is getting too close to you I will

 hit it with a rock." Itepu's tumescent expression brightened at the unexpected

 realization. "This is good! It combines my idea and yours."

 "Unless the creature catches me anyway and you miss with the rock."

 Fifth-of-Medicine was much subdued. On the whole, he would rather have been

 meditating.

 "I do not see how we can do this without taking some risk. Remember, the

 creature has an injured leg. Surely it cannot run very fast."

 "Truly, that is so." The medic felt a little more optimistic. "It might not even

 try to chase me."

 "You should not be in much danger." The Lepar was stolidly remorseless.

 "How will I its attention attract?"

 Itepu considered. "Throw something at it. With luck that will make it mad."

 "With luck?" The Hivistahm were not as skilled in the art as the S'van, but they

 could still muster sarcasm when the occasion demanded it. "That an offensive

 action would be." His stomach roiled at the very thought. "I do not know if I

 can ..."

 "Then throw nearby. If you are not actually trying to hit it, there is no

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 offense in the action.''

 "Truly," he had to admit. He flipped his eyeshades back into place. "First we

 have a hole to choose and camouflage."

 The Lepar's wide mouth clapped together twice. "I will take care of that. I am

 good at manual labor."

 And I will watch, Fifth-of-Medicine thought. I am good at that.

 By late that afternoon Itepu had demonstrated surprising skill in masking the

 trap they'd chosen. It was steep-sided and deep enough to keep even a tall

 Ashregan from climbing out.

 That the easy part was, he reminded himself.

 He'd had most of the day to ponder what they planned to try and had almost

 convinced himself they could bring it off. After all, it wasn't as if he was

 going to have to fight. Just attract the creature's attention, and run. Except

 for Humans and Massood, the Hivistahm were about the best runners in the Weave,

 especially over a short distance.

 They approached the creature's resting place quietly. Itepu murmured something

 intended to be reassuring in his own language, then sank out of sight back into

 the forest, leaving Fifth-of-Medicine on his own. He hoped the Lepar located a

 particularly large rock.

 Am I actually this doing? he asked himself silently as he advanced. I,

 Fifth-of-Medicine, sophisticated technician and member of respected circles,

 stalking a soldier of the Purpose? He was awash in fear and revulsion.

 The Ashregan had an injured leg, he kept reminding himself.

 He'd adjusted his translator to handle the creature's own language, having

 determined that throwing words could be as provocative as throwing stones. It

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 would not work perfectly, but it should function well enough for him to make

 himself understood. Not that he intended to engage the enemy in an extended

 conversation.

 What he had not counted on was its imposing size as he drew close. It was the

 biggest Ashregan he'd ever seen. Truly the Amplitur had bred notable Human

 characteristics into it. His task suddenly seemed more daunting, his companion

 Itepu much farther away.

 They had invested too much effort and he had come too far for him to back away

 now, he told himself nervously. Nor could he envision himself confessing his

 inadequacies to a Lepar. Not that he feared being accused of cowardice.

 Cowardice was a primitive concept invalid among civilized peoples. Fortunately

 he found himself possessed by a kind of paralysis of determination.

 The tranquilizers helped.

 It was almost as if someone else were picking the small round stone out of the

 muck, as though another being was straightening and throwing it in the

 Ashregan's direction, supporting its unimpressive trajectory with inane insults

 in an alien tongue.

 The creature reacted with shocking speed and unnaturally fast reflexes, rising

 and whirling in one motion, Though its proportions were mutant, the face that

 confronted Fifth-of-Medicine was wide-eyed and wholly Ashregan.

 Feeling numbly foolish, he continued to stand where he'd risen, exposed and

 vulnerable, staring back at the enemy. To break the paralysis he jumped up and

 down several times and twitched obscenely, though it was unlikely the Ashregan

 was knowledgeable enough to interpret the gestures.

 The stone, the words, the gestures or a combination thereof had an effect,

 however. Like some great primeval forest spirit, the mutant Ashregan crouched

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 momentarily.

 When it rose anew a horrified Fifth-of-Medicine saw the long spear which the

 creature had until now kept concealed in the underbrush.

 The weapon was even taller than its maker, as thick around as the medic's wrist,

 straight and lethal-looking. Its tip of sharpened stone looked quite capable of

 slicing through iridescent green scales, flesh, and organs.

 With an inarticulate cry, Fifth-of-Medicine put all carefully considered plans

 aside as he turned and ran.

 Chapter Five

  

 He could hear the Ashregan crashing through the brush behind him. It was making

 less noise than he'd hoped, slipping through the brush and vines and across the

 spongy surface with entirely too much ease for so large a creature. Nor were

 they the sounds he imagined would be produced by something massive traveling on

 a damaged leg.

 Expecting to see nothing so soon, he glanced back over his shoulder and was

 aghast to note that the Ashregan was not only in sight but already closing. It

 was not limping.

 What had happened to its injury, he wondered frantically?

 It occurred to him suddenly that maybe there had never been any wound. Perhaps

 it had been feigning injury all along, just in case it should encounter Weave

 troops. So perfect had been its ruse that it"had deceived even those it had not

 seen.

 Long, powerful, heavy-boned legs carried it easily from log to log as it

 methodically ate up the distance between them with strides the shorter Hivistahm

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 could not hope to match. The ominous spear hung from its fist, parallel to the

 ground. Fifth-of-Medicine was sure it was already within throwing distance.

 He could feel the stone-tipped, heavy piece of jungle timber slamming into his

 back, piercing vital organs, emerging from his sternum with sufficient force

 still unspent to pin him like a specimen bug against the nearest tree. He tried

 to accelerate, his three-toed sandaled feet hardly touching the ground as he

 flew through the woods.

 No matter how fast he ran or how radically he swerved, the creature continued to

 close the distance between them.

 He knew then with absolute certainty that they were not going to trap the

 Ashregan in their carefully concealed pit because it was going to overtake him

 long before they reached the place. He imagined he could feel the creature's

 breath on the back of his neck. His eyes wildly scanned the vegetation he ripped

 through. Where was Itepu with his poised rock? Still somewhere ahead, too far

 ahead.

 Another glance backward filled his eyes with that horrible flat face, the parted

 mouth with its squarish cutting teeth, the projecting bony ridges over the ears,

 the throw-back patch of fur atop the slightly flattened skull. And the eyes,

 those round burning eyes, gazing unblinkingly back into his own.

 It's toying with me, he realized suddenly. It knows it can bring me down at any

 time.

 Emitting a hiss of absolute and complete hysteria, knowing that he would never

 reach the pit in time, too terrified to lament the accomplishments and merit

 that would never be his, he ran on.

 There was a crash behind him. In focusing its attention on its prey had the

 mutant slipped on the perpetually damp ground? Had it tripped over an especially

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 well-concealed liana? Fifth-of-Medicine didn't turn to look, didn't stop until

 his heart threatened to bang its way out through his heaving chest.

 He blinked. There was nothing behind him.

 Was it still playing with its quarry, sneaking through the brush nearby,

 silently amused at his inchoate terror? To the best of his knowledge that was

 not a characteristic of the Ashregan. It had all but run him down. Why pause to

 prolong the game? Humans were occasionally reputed to do such things, but not

 Ashregan.

 It was against his better judgment, but then he'd been acting against his better

 judgment all day, he reminded himself. He started retracing his path, trying to

 keep to the denser vegetation, working his way slowly and carefully back the way

 he'd come.

 Eventually he came to something which caused him to suck in his breath with a

 soft but perceptible hiss.

 The Ashregan stood close by the trap. A portion of the branch-and-leaf

 camouflage had been contemptuously kicked aside to reveal the pit beneath. Blood

 streamed from the side of the mutant's skull.

 Itepu lay on his back at the edge of the hole, the tip of the Ashregan's spear

 dimpling his belly. The medic recalled the crash he'd heard in the midst of his

 panicky flight.

 The Lepar. Itepu must have leaped from concealment to strike the pursuing

 Ashregan. Only, the poor amphibian hadn't struck hard enough. The mutant must

 have been staggered, but instead of going down he'd chased the clumsy Lepar to

 this point. Itepu had tried to lead the Ashregan into the pit, to succeed where

 Fifth-of-Medicine had failed.

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 He ducked down as the enemy soldier suddenly looked around, scanning the

 surrounding trees intently. Wondering what had happened to its original quarry,

 no doubt. Trying to decide if any more Weave fools lurked in the tepid jungle.

 It turned away and began querying Itepu via its own battered battlefield

 translator. The sounds of the Lepar language filtered back to the cowering

 physiotech. Fifth-of-Medicine winced as the Ashregan emphasized its inquiry by

 prodding the prone Lepar with its spear. Each time the unfortunate maintenance

 worker refused to reply, the spear point probed a little deeper.

 Why doesn't he answer? the medic wondered. The Lepar's defiance would only get

 him killed more slowly.

 They'd tried, he told himself, and failed. It struck him that the Ashregan's

 preoccupation with Itepu offered him a chance to slip away quietly. Could he do

 that? It was the eminently sensible thing to do, of course. Logical, if not

 civilized. Given time, he was sure he could rationalize his actions.

 He hesitated, hiding deep in the undergrowth, his in-sides churning. The

 alternative to logic was a likely death. It was known that certain Hivistahm had

 succeeded in executing offensive gestures under extreme circumstances. Was he

 capable of such an action? Of overriding a lifetime's conditioning? To, of all

 things, help a Lepar?

 The tranquilizers were still active in his system, helping to dampen dangerous

 thoughts. This is the result of the Lepar's misguided cogitation, he reminded

 himself. He had wanted to do the sensible thing, to avoid the mutant and

 continue on to the river and the nearest outpost. He was responsible only for

 his own safety. And there were greater responsibilities. To his meditation

 circle. To the war effort. A dead physiotech was of no use to the Weave.

 It was the Lepar who had insisted on this ill-conceived effort. Therefore it was

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 only right that the Lepar should pay for its failure. He owed it nothing. A last

 look, he decided, and then he would be gone.

 Peering through the vegetation, he saw that the creature was now wholly occupied

 with its interrogation of Itepu. It no longer showed interest in its

 surroundings. That was good. He let the leaves he'd parted fall silently back

 into place.

 He didn't recall when he began to move. Nor did he remember striking the

 towering Ashregan behind its knees-most likely because both his eyelids were

 tightly shut at the moment of impact. The Hivistahm were light of build, and his

 greatest fear was that he wouldn't have sufficient mass to carry out his intent.

 His concern was not misplaced. Intent as it was On its questioning of Itepu, the

 mutant did not start to react until Fifth-of-Medicine was upon him. As it began

 to turn, the medic struck as hard as he could. The startled Ashregan dropped the

 spear and flailed its arms in an attempt to maintain its balance. The startled

 look on its face showed that it could not believe it had been surprised, much

 less by an inoffensive Hivistahm.

 The soil at the edge of the pit was no less slippery and unstable than the rest

 of Eirrosad's surface. For a horrible moment the creature appeared to regain its

 equilibrium. Then it dropped out of sight in a great crash of crunching leaves

 and twigs, emitting furious emanations as it fell. It struck bottom with a

 spongy thud.

 Fifih-of-Medicine slumped to his haunches, breathing hard, tongue dangling to

 one side as he struggled to slow his heart rate. Angry noises continued to

 bubble from the depths of the trap. When the trembling stopped he rose and moved

 to help Itepu to his feet. Save for a minor cut where the spear had prodded, the

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 Lepar was unhurt.

 "You saved my life."

 "Crazy it was. I am of commitment worthy. You must turn me in for observation

 upon our return. I insist on it!"

 Ignoring him, Itepu cautiously approached the lip of the pit and peered in.

 The Ashregan was on its feet, uttering curses as it inspected its surroundings.

 Fifth-of-Medicine did not approach the trap. He knew what the Ashregan looked

 like.

 Itepu backed away from the edge. "Well, we have done it."

 "Do not remind me. I prefer not to think on it."

 "Now that we have captured the creature, we must think of a way to take it with

 us."

 "I a better idea have." The medic was still breathing hard. "Let's leave it

 here. We can some food and water provide and mark the spot in our minds. Others

 come and recover it can.''

 "No, we can't do that." Itepu was inexorable. "Given time it may find a way to

 escape. We must take it with us or everything we have done may go to waste." It

 glanced in the direction of the trap. "We know for certain now that it is

 Ashregan. A Human would not have bothered to ask questions, but would have

 killed an enemy instantly."

 Reluctantly Fifth-of-Medicine joined his companion at the edge of the pit as

 they considered what to do with their prisoner.

 Once, it backed into a far corner and unexpectedly took a running leap at them,

 powerful hands reaching for the physiotech's legs. Fifth-of-Medicine took a

 startled hop backward. He needn't have bothered. Though it could jump impossibly

 high for so massive a creature, its fingers still fell far short of the trap's

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 rim.

 Next it tried to climb out, expending in its frantic efforts more sheer energy

 than the medic believed a single being could muster. The damp, soft earth

 crumbled under its fingers and beneath its feet. Several times it ascended

 nearly a body length, only to tumble back to the bottom as the treacherous soil

 gave way beneath scrabbling hands and feet.

 Though astonishing in their scope, its physical resources were finite. It tried,

 failed, and fell exhausted one last time into the shallow puddle of water which

 had collected at the bottom of the pit. Quiescent at last it lay there,

 breathing hard and glaring murderously up at them.

 Fifth-of-Medicine's teeth clicked softly. "We here have to leave it. How can we

 such a killer restrain? If we bring it out it surely kill us will, and if we

 down after go it will kill us there. We cannot incapacitate it without near it

 going."

 "That may not be true," Itepu replied slowly.

 The Hivistahm's eyelids closed halfway. "Explain yourself."

 Itepu gestured at the physiotech's service belt. "You have medicines designed to

 make the injured feel better. Do not some of them also put you to sleep?"

 "Truly. But the emergency vials I at all times on my person carry are calibrated

 for treating Massood and Human fighters, and to a lesser extent Hivistahm,

 Lepar, and whatever other species I am at the time serving with. To an enemy

 treat requires the resources of a field hospital."

 "'I have heard that Human and Ashregan physiology are very similar."

       "Truly they are, but whether they identical enough are for

 pharmaceuticals designed for one to affect another is a far more complex matter.

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 I am only a fifth-of-medicine, a field medic. I am not in such matters

 competent."

 "This creature has been given Human physical and fighting characteristics,"

 Itepu pointed out. "If anything, it should be more receptive than others of its

 kind to serums designed for treating Humans. Would it not be worth trying?"

 "Still remains the main problem," Fifth-of-Medicine insisted. "How to get near

 enough to an adequate dosage inject."

 "Must it be injected? The creature is tough, but it still needs to eat."

 Fifth-of-Medicine considered. "Would it not suspicious of food from us be?"

 "Probably, but hunger should eventually overcome suspicion. It must realize that

 if we wanted it dead we could throw rocks down on it, or leave it here. Nor does

 it know that you are a medic with access to sedatives."

 He made the dose strong. Very strong. After all, the worst that could happen was

 that it would kill the creature, thus sparing them the difficulty of somehow

 hauling it back with them. He was able to concoct the dose without qualms

 because it was not his intent to kill but to tranquilize. The possibility of a

 fatal accident weighed only peripherally on his conscience.

 As expected, the Ashregan at first refused all offers of fruit and meat. But two

 days of clawing futilely at the walls of its prison left it ravenous, and it

 finally devoured the proffered food, exhibiting an extraordinary appetite as

 well as atrocious table manners. It not only finished what they had provided but

 asked for more, after which it sat down in the slimy puddle and regarded them

 with a baleful expression on its flat, ugly face.

 An hour later its eyes closed as its head fell over on one shoulder.

 "We can use vines braced around a tree to drag it out," Itepu suggested, "and to

 bind it. I think the two of us working together can manage the load."

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 "One of us will have to go down to secure it." The medic was studying the

 motionless alien form. "What if it deceiving is?"

 "I will find out."

 It took the Lepar a few moments to locate a rock of suitable size. As

 Fifth-of-Medicine looked on, Itepu carefully positioned himself on the other

 side of the pit and let it drop. It was large enough to start a trickle of blood

 from the Ashregan's scalp but not to crack bone. The mutant's eyelids did not

 even twitch.

 "Truly unconscious it is." Fifth-of-Medicine was satisfied. "Let us make sure we

 bind it beyond possibility of escape."

 A variable-focus surgical cutter allowed them to sever and gather very thick

 vines. After wrapping the heavy alien in a green cocoon, arms secured behind its

 back, they strained to haul it out of the hole, working quickly lest it awaken

 before they were finished. Since they did not have the inclination, much less

 the strength, to carry their prisoner, they left its lower limbs relatively

 free, binding each ankle to opposite ends of a short, stout tree limb which

 severely restricted each leg's range of motion while still allowing the creature

 enough leeway so that it could stumble forward.

 When it regained consciousness it was more than a little surprised at the

 condition in which it found itself. After trying its bonds and finding them

 unbreakable, it looked accusingly at Fifth-of-Medicine. Its translator was in

 bad shape, but still functioning.

 "You drugged me," it said accusingly. "I didn't suspect. What are a Hivistahm

 and Lepar doing out in this jungle with drugs?"

 "I a medical technician am," Fifth-of-Medicine found himself replying. Even

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 bound and helpless, the Ashregan still cut an intimidating figure.

 It emitted an untranslatable grunt. "That never occurred to me. I should have

 noted your uniform type when I was chasing you. It serves me right. Well, now

 that you have me, what do you intend to do with me?"

 "Take you back with us." The physiotech retreated several steps as the Ashregan

 struggled to its feet. The limb secured to its ankles reduced its stride

 considerably, its mobility completely. Enmeshed in its cocoon of vines, it

 towered over its captors.

 Itepu clutched the prisoner's spear. The Ashregan grinned contemptuously. "You

 don't expect me to believe you'd use that."

 The Lepar's reply was admirably firm. "I have hit you twice with rocks. I might

 surprise you again."

 "You might at that. You Lepar are difficult to understand. Some day you'll be

 useful participants in the Purpose."

 "Not while any of us lives," Itepu assured him.

 "Nor any Hivistahm." Fifth-of-Medicine was not about to be exceeded in defiance

 by a Lepar. "You are back with us coming. You a physical anomaly are. Ashregan

 you appear, yet with Human characteristics."

 "I am Ashregan," the captive replied proudly. "You hold the Unifer Ranji-aar of

 Purposeful Cossuut." He strained at his bonds. "And if I can free myself I will

 destroy you both, as I destroy all enemies of the Purpose."

 "Yes, we know." Fifth-of-Medicine's confidence increased in proportion to the

 Ashregan's inability to loosen its bindings. "It is clear that altered you have

 been. Doubtless responsible the Amplitur are."

 The soldier glared narrowly at his captor. "The Amplitur do not do such things.

 Such tales are only Weave propaganda. The Amplitur ..."

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 "Spare us the lecture on the wonderfulness of the Amplitur. I have eyes, and I a

 trained medical specialist am. You both Ashregan and Human traits possess. There

 is here something very peculiar going on. We are taking you back so that better

 minds than mine can what the truth is find out.''

 "They'll find no more than you." The mutant expectorated. "You've taken a

 captive; that's all." It turned sharply to Itepu, who flinched slightly, black

 eyes blinking, but held his ground. "You I should've killed when I had the

 chance."

 The Lepar's expression did not change. "But you did not."

 "No. You were on the ground and helpless, and I had questions to ask. I should

 have been faster, like a berserker Human.''

 "I am glad you were not." Itepu stepped boldly forward and poked the bound

 Ashregan with the spear. "Now move. That way."

 The prisoner gazed a moment longer at the amphibian, then pivoted to start off

 in the indicated direction. His captors followed. Amazement at their

 accomplishments thus far caused them to walk proud.

 Despite Fifth-of-Medicine's fears, they were not attacked. Nothing leaped out at

 them from the undergrowth, nothing materialized to impede their progress. Having

 delivered himself of several proclamations, the Ashregan had turned surprisingly

 docile. Fifth-of-Medicine and Itepu did not relax, staying as alert as when

 they'd first trapped the soldier. For surely this creature's companions would be

 searching for him.

 They reached the river without incident. The prisoner sat quietly while his

 captors, making good use of Fifth-of-Medicine's surgical instruments and Itepu's

 remaining tools, fashioned a crude raft. If they needed any further proof that

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 the creature was Ashregan, its continued docility as they worked with logs and

 vines confirmed it. A Human would have jumped into the river despite the

 likelihood of drowning, or struck out with its restrained legs, or at least

 inflicted on them a constant stream of invective. That was the way of Humans. It

 was not the manner of Ashregans.

 Instead, he continued to lecture them endlessly on the true way of the Purpose,

 until the medic was ready to put aside the value of their prisoner and strike

 him dead with the spear.

 "We have everything you could say already heard," he finally informed the mutant

 exasperatedly. "Despite what you believe, there is civilization outside the

 Purpose. Truly."

 "Civilized peoples do not slaughter the helpless civilian populations of

 undefended worlds," the Ashregan shot back.

 Fifth-of-Medicine glanced up curiously from where he was working on the raft.

 "What are you talking about?"

 "My parents. My entire family and all its friends and relations were wiped out

 by Humans and Massood."

 "Truly now, I cannot imagine to what you refer."

 "The massacre of Houcilat, of course. I can't believe you never heard of it, no

 matter how thorough is Weave control of your information media. Houcilat was my

 world of origin."

 Fifth-of-Medicine reflected as he worked. "Houcilat, Houcilat. Truly, yes. That

 was a world colonized by both Ashregan and, I believe, Bir'rimor. It contested

 was, and taken back by the Weave some time ago. I am at recent history fairly

 competent. Do you anything of what he speaks recall, Itepu?"

 The Lepar looked up from where it was working waist-deep in water. "We do not

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 have good memories. But the name strikes me."

 "The fighting was lengthy but modest in scope, and the world was back for the

 Weave won. But there no massacre of inhabitants was. Truly." Fifth-of-Medicine

 fastened two logs together, eyeing his handiwork with satisfaction.

 Misapplication of his extensive medical training such construction might be, but

 there were none present to proffer objections.

 "All inhabitants were allowed under Weave supervision to remain, or to other

 Ashregan worlds repatriated were."

 Ranji's brows drew together. "Weave propaganda. Everyone on Houcilat was

 slaughtered. Including my natural parents."

 The medic drew a thick liana tight. "Killed they may have been. I am sure some

 civilian casualties there were. But a massacre there was not."

 "All my parents' friends, all my relatives and their relatives, were killed. Do

 the Hivistahm describe such atrocities in languid phrases?"

 Fifth-of-Medicine glanced behind him. "Even that may be truth, but I tell you

 that there was no slaughter. That is not the way of the Weave. You have been

 lied to."

 "The Amplitur ..." Ranji started to remind his captors that the Amplitur never

 lied. Even they would have to admit to that. But as he thought back it struck

 him that no Amplitur, either in person or on recording, had ever spoken directly

 about Houcilat. The story of the massacre of Houcilat had been told to him by

 his parents and teachers, who were Ashregan. It might be interesting some day to

 put the question to an Amplitur and observe the response.

 No! Absurd, inconceivable, a thing he could not countenance. Why should he for

 an instant question parents or instructors because of what a Purposeless, enemy

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 Hivistahm chose to say on the bank of an unnamed river on a primitive, contested

 world?

 "You're the ones who've been lied to," he responded confidently. "There was a

 massacre."

 "That possible is," admitted Fifth-of-Medicine readily. "Truly I was not there.

 But tell me this, Ashregan Unifer: What would be the purpose of such slaughter?

 What would it gain the Weave?''

 "It need have no purpose if Humans were involved."

 "Even Humans more restrained are. There are of isolated barbaric incidents some

 rumors, but nothing on the scale to which you refer. Nor are Humans alone to

 fight allowed. Massood or others are always present, and would have such a

 terrible thing confirmed."

 "Are you so sure? It would be to the Weave's benefit to conceal such an

 incident. Because you do not have the Purpose, you are always fighting and

 arguing among yourselves. Knowledge of such an outrage could cause trouble among

 you."

 "You very plausibly argue." Fifth-of-Medicine secured a vine, snugging two

 cross-limbs tightly together. "Though I do not believe you, I allow as how you

 might be correct. Will you not grant me the same privilege? Anything is possible

 which cannot disproved be."

 Ranji went silent as his captors worked. Silence offered time to think, which,

 as his teachers had sometimes pointed out, could be dangerous. Why would they

 lie to him, especially about something as important to him and his friends as

 the destruction of Houcilat? The Hivistahm had seemed genuinely surprised by his

 disclosure, and equally convinced no such massacre had occurred. Yes, the Weave

 government could have covered it up, but was such a thing really possible in

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 this time of rapid interworld and interspecies communication?

 "My friends will drive you off this world," he declared for lack of anything

 more convincing to say. "And massacre or not, the Weave remains responsible for

 the death of my parents."

 "I am for that most sorry," the physiotech told him. "Even when great and

 exalted ideals at stake are, civilians sometimes perish in their cause. But I

 and my companion nothing to do with that had. We were at the time of Houcilat

 not adults."

 Ranji calmed himself. He should be looking for a chance to escape, not wasting

 his energy arguing with the enemy. "I didn't mean to imply that I blamed you

 personally. Only the misguided and misled organization that organizes your war

 effort. To do otherwise would not be in keeping with the higher tenets of the

 Purpose."

 "Of course it wouldn't." Fifth-of-Medicine's claws clicked together sideways, a

 gesture his kind used to express sarcasm. "Your form puzzles me greatly."

 "I am wholly Ashregan. If you think otherwise then you're wasting mind time."

 "Truly you must pictures of Humans have seen. I cannot believe you have never

 upon the physical similarities remarked."

 "I'm aware of the superficial resemblance. Also the differences," Ranji assured

 him.

 "It would not be beyond the Amplitur to with an allied species genetically

 interfere if they believed their goals they could enhance.'' If this was a

 development the Weave was aware of but keeping secret from the general populace,

 he thought, then a quick strike at the world where the Amplitur were carrying

 out their activities might stop it cold.

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 It shocked him to realize that he had just promulgated a possible rationale for

 precisely the kind of massacre their prisoner insisted had taken place at

 Houcilat. But surely the S'van, the Hivistahm would not permit such a thing.

 Surely.

 "That's nonsense." The prisoner shifted against his bonds. "The Ashregan are a

 physically diverse species. Just because some of us are taller and stronger than

 the rest doesn't mean we're the products of some bizarre, not to mention

 unethical, genetic manipulation."

 "It is not for me to determine. You will by better minds than mine be analyzed

 and studied." Seeing the look on the Ashregan's face he added, "I doubt you will

 to vivisection be subjected. Do you think truly that we are the barbarians the

 Amplitur make us out to be?''

 "They don't call you barbarians," Ranji told him.

 Sharp teeth clicked in the medic's narrow snout. "Not directly, no. But they

 suggest it. Your Amplitur masters at suggestion very good are."

 "They're not our 'masters.' Within the Purpose all species are equal."

 "Have you not Amplitur suggestions been subjected to?"

 "I've had mind contact with a couple, yes." He said it proudly. "I feel only

 elevated and honored for the experience."

 "Of course. They would 'suggest' that you feel that way.''

 "I did feel that way," Ranji shot back, more loudly than he intended.

 Fifth-of-Medicine was not in the mood to discuss the inefficacies of circular

 logic. Together he and Itepu shoved the finished raft all the way into the

 water. It drifted motionless next to the muddy shore, reassuringly stable.

 "Let's go," he told the prisoner. "Do not anything foolish try. You could

 perhaps into the river dump us, but my friend is as at home in the water as on

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 land and you can be sure he would expend his energies on rescuing me, not you.

 You could not escape."

 Ranji shuffled forward, the restraining log heavy against his ankles. "Just

 because I'm a warrior doesn't mean you have to belabor the obvious."

 Chapter Six

  

 As Fifth-of-Medicine had anticipated, their unexpected appearance at the

 outermost defensive perimeter of the nearest Weave outpost touched off quite a

 celebration among the station's astonished personnel. Tired and dirty but

 otherwise intact, they were escorted from the outpost to Weave military

 headquarters. Not only had they survived the devastating attack on the Weave's

 northeastern front, they had made their way back on foot through hostile

 terrain, without weapons. And they had brought a prisoner out with them.

 It was the type of exploit expected of Humans or Massood, not Hivistahm and

 Lepar.

 Though concerned about his mental state, Fifth-of-Medicine 's colleagues

 accorded him a place of honor the first time he joined a meditation circle, and

 his accumulation of merit was duly and ceremoniously noted. As for Itepu, the

 accolades he received were offered quietly: an occasional congratulatory word, a

 casual admiring touch. He did not bathe in them: he was anxious to get back to

 work.

 The initial eagerness of the base's medical staff to examine the prisoner soon

 gave way to discouragement as they realized they were ill equipped to carry out

 anything like a proper study of the creature. Still, their necessarily cursory

 studies only confirmed what Fifth-of-Medicine had already noted, that being a

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 confusing melange of Human and Ashregan characteristics in the same body. It was

 a           biological puzzle the Hivistahm and O'o'yan technicians on Eirrosad

 did not have a large enough key to unlock.

 It was decided to send the captive out on the next supply shuttle. A Human would

 have reacted violently to the news that he was to be shipped so far from his

 friends, but their prisoner was not Human. As an Ashregan soldier trained in the

 Purpose he acquiesced calmly to the decision, making only one small and rather

 quaint request. Though Command thought it baffling, they graciously consented to

 its fulfillment.

 So while Ranji found himself speeding through Under-space toward an unknown

 destination far from Eirrosad and even farther from his beloved Cossuut, he did

 not travel alone. More than a few were bemused as to why the single demand he

 made was for the company of a particular Lepar.

 Headquarters psychologist Third-of-Mind thought he had an explanation. "Here is

 an Ashregan prisoner, of mind probing probably afraid. He knows of the Lepar

 reputation for simplicity, and knows personally this particular individual. He

 will try the Lepar to employ to check the veracity of what is to him told by

 others."

 The base commander was Massood. It was his task to try and win a world for the

 Weave-a world of suffocating humidity and cloying rain, two meteorological

 traits he was not particularly fond of. He was not much interested in the

 physiological aberrations or mental workings of one Ashregan prisoner, now

 blissfully removed from his jurisdiction.

 He dismissed the psychologist without comment.

 On the ship racing away from Eirrosad's sun, however, there was more time for

 curiosity. Everyone was conscious of the regard in which muttering specialists

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 held the unique passenger, who communicated his personal requests through the

 eccentric medium of a Lepar maintenance worker. They marveled at its size during

 its occasional escorted walks through unsensitive portions of the ship. It was

 far and away the largest Ashregan any of them had ever seen.

 The S Van captain was somewhat disappointed in their destination. True, there

 were large and competent scientific facilities on Omaphil, but it was a Tula

 world. He would much rather have taken their prisoner to one inhabited by his

 own kind.

 The option was not available to him. The military counselors had been quite

 specific. The Yula settled planet of Omaphil was the nearest fully developed

 Weave world to Eirrosad, and for reasons unknowable it might at some time in the

 near future be desirable to return the captive to that contested globe. He

 stroked his beard reflexively. It might be all right. Yula was a cosmopolitan

 place. There would be S'van present to keep an eye on developments, even if they

 were not directly involved in the examination process itself.

 There was no reason for him to concern himself with the prisoner specifically

 except that the S'van made it a point to concern themselves with everything. Not

 that they were overly curious. Merely paranoid.

 Yulans in fact comprised a substantial part of the crew, together with the usual

 complement of Hivistahm, O'o'yan, Lepar, and S'van officers. There was also a

 squad of Massood, who had been suborned from Eirrosad specifically to keep watch

 on the captive. As the Ashregan proved to be a model prisoner, they were able to

 pass their duty time in comfort.

 They were accompanied by a trio of Human soldiers whose resemblance to the

 captive provoked a good deal of whispered comment among the crew. The Ashregan

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 displayed no inclination to seek their company, however, instead preferring the

 companionship of the Lepar who had accompanied him on board. That pleased the

 more imaginative among the crew, who found the Ashregan's proximity to

 look-alike Human soldiers inexplicably unnerving.

 Not that the prisoner's preference for the Lepar's company was any less

 puzzling. To the average Lepar, a couple of sentences constituted an extended

 conversation. What did the Ashregan find to talk about with his amphibious

 attendant? The crew amused themselves inventing outrageous explanations.

  

 With his three legs and three arms, his unusual tripodal posture, three yellow

 eyes centered on the flat front end of the triangular skull, mottled

 yellow-and-brown fur which bulged from beneath the skirt of his light-duty

 uniform, Teoth looked a lot like an overstaffed child's doll. Though he was no

 taller than the average Hivistahm, all that fur made him appear far more

 massive.

 It was real fur, thick a dense as a S Van's beard though far softer and

 infinitely better groomed. It covered Teoth's entire body, including the head

 and limbs, and its complex pattern of spots defined his identity.

 While not one of the more populous or important races, the Yula had been part of

 the Weave for hundreds of years, believed fully in the cause, and contributed

 what they could to the resistance against the Amplitur. They were fully

 civilized, which meant that they did not participate in any actual fighting but

 instead gave aid and support to those who did, like the Humans and Massood.

 Which explained their presence aboard the transport vessel.

 The Yula inhabited, not surprisingly, three worlds, of which Omaphil was the

 most prominent. Its economy was dominated by agriculture and light industry, of

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 which only a portion was dedicated to the war effort. Despite their sensitive

 galactic location, the Yula enjoyed the deceptively peaceful existence common to

 most worlds of both the Weave and the Purpose. Actual fighting was something

 that took place elsewhere, on lightly populated planets, between the primitive

 species of the Weave and those unfortunates who had been adjusted for the

 purpose by the Amplitur.

 It was for this reason that Teoth was concerned that conveyance of this special

 captive warrior to peaceful Omaphil did not seem to greatly trouble his fellows.

 Despite repeated and earnest attempts to discuss the matter with them, they

 chose to go about their tasks unconcerned.

 He found more sympathy among the perpetually brooding, always somber Hivistahm.

 Two in particular, Eighth-of-Records and Sixth-of-Technics, provided a willing

 audience for his polemics. They shared his fear of the prisoner and what it

 represented.

 They usually met in the zero-g bubble, trying to choose times when it was not

 too crowded. While others bounced off the soft, padded walls or drifted through

 the ever-changing central maze or engaged in various null-g games, the three

 conspirators kept out of the way and to themselves.

 Teoth's motives were simple: he did not want to see some crazed Ashregan

 fighting machine imported into his world. While most would insist that a single

 hostile alien could not pose much of a threat, Teoth would have violently

 disagreed. In that respect his attitude was more Hivistahm than Yula. Certainly

 that contributed to a unanimity of opinion among the three.

 Because of his position, Eighth-of-Records knew as much about their passenger as

 anyone aboard. Sixth-of-Technics and Teoth had caught glimpses of it during its

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 occasional escorted walks through the ship. Those brief encounters were

 terrifying enough.

 Eighth-of-Records was declaiming softly. "They say that a new kind of mutant

 Ashregan fighter it is an example of, bioengineered by the Amplitur the Humans

 to counteract. ''

 "I wonder how successful it has been," murmured Sixth-of-Technics.

 "Truly I do not know." His companion's teeth clicked. "It a secret is. There are

 rumors, though. As tough as Humans it is said they are."

 ' 'Why my world? That is what I want to know.'' Teoth fiddled with his

 translator, wanting to make certain everything he said was clearly

 comprehensible to his Hivistahm companions. "Why not one of the Massood planets?

 Or better yet, the Human world, where it could be well and truly isolated. Were

 it to get loose there it could not wreak havoc on a civilized society.''

 "You know why," said Sixth-of-Technics. "Because Omaphil the nearest fully

 developed Weave world to Eir-rosad is."

 "Council is anxious." The other Hivistahm's inner, transparent set of eyelids

 were shut against the bubble's glare. "They do not what to make of it know."

 "Well I know what to make of it." Teoth was emphatic. "I believe that all the

 worst rumors are accurate, that this creature is the latest example of the

 Amplitur's immoral experiments in bioengineering."

 "There must be more," insisted Sixth-of-Technics. "The Amplitur would not just a

 single such creature release."

 Teoth gestured significantly. "Surely you have heard about what happened on

 Koba."

 "Truly." Eighth-of-Records shuddered. "Can you imagine what might happen if it

 were to aboard this ship get loose?"

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 "I am less concerned with what happens aboard this ship than I am about my

 cherished homeworld." Seeing that he was starting to rotate, Teoth reached out

 with two of his three hands to steady himself against the padded wall.

 "If that were to happen, how many cubs would it kill before it could finally be

 destroyed? How many homes would it ravage? The 'specialists' admit they know

 little about it, about its ultimate abilities or potential. Why subject a

 peaceful place like Omaphil to their dangerous experiments?" He focused all

 three eyes on his companions.

 "The Yula have always been willing participants in the workings of the Weave. So

 why should they be singled out for additional risk?''

 "They are not singled out being." Sixth-of-Technics felt compelled to restate

 the obvious. "The Ashregan is being there taken for reasons of time and urgency,

 and proximity to Eirrosad."

 "I am not mollified by the explanations." Teoth's tone grew less peremptory. "My

 people are not as mature as yours, or certain others. They would not deal as

 well with the knowledge that this creature had been brought into their midst."

 "Sure I am that the intention is to keep its presence on Omaphil a secret."

 Sixth-of-Technics hissed softly.

 "The Yula believe in openness." Teoth's fur bristled. "I simply do not agree

 with any of this, any of it at all. Is this but the first of many such

 impositions to be made upon my world? Does the Weave military council intend to

 bring all such mutants to Omaphil for study? What if they should begin to breed

 in captivity? If one is as rumored capable of great horrors, what might many do?

 "We are not fighters. The Yula are civilized. We would be helpless in the face

 of such an onslaught. Massood would have to be brought in to control the

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 problem, or even worse"-and his distress was palpable even to the Hivistahm-''

 Humans.''

 "Truly I would not on my homeworld wish this being loose," agreed

 Eighth-of-Records.

 ' 'Let them take the scientists to Eirrosad if they wish to study it." Teoth's

 legs drifted lazily.

 Sixth-of-Technics clicked claws together. "What do you think should be done?"

 "I am not sure." Three eyes blinked. "I am only a simple technician like

 yourself. But I do know that this matter is too important to be left to the

 likes of self-serving scientists."

 A group of gamboling S'van came near, and the trio went silent until they had

 passed. "Are you something uncivilized preparing to propose?"

 "I would not think of it that way," Teoth argued. "I am only saying that those

 who are closer to the people should take it upon themselves to carefully monitor

 the situation."

 The two xenologists regarded the prisoner thoughtfully. Its occasional

 volubility notwithstanding, it remained as much of an enigma as when they had

 first encountered it.

 Half the pair was S'van. He was typically short and squat. A dense black beard

 practically obscured his face. More thick, wiry hair was visible where his

 wrists and ankles emerged from his clothing. His eyebrows threatened to obscure

 his vision.

 His Massood associate towered over him, her uniform of ship-duty vest and shorts

 snug against close-cropped silvery fur, gray cat eyes alert to the captive's

 every move, black-tufted ears flicked alertly forward. Her muzzle and whiskers

 were in constant motion. As she worked she picked at her short, sharp teeth, a

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 type of grooming as natural to the Massood as breathing.

 "I don't understand it." The S'van spoke in a soft, reassuring tone much like

 the recordings Ranji was familiar with. It was as tranquil a voice as a

 Vandir's. Certainly his interrogator was anything but physically intimidating.

 Hardly a being to be afraid of, Ranji told himself. The S'van's manner was at

 all times cordial and civilized.

 The Massood female was much more physically impressive. Taller man Ranji but not

 as strong, her attention was concentrated on the compact device she carried.

 Probably recording everything he did or said, he decided. Not that he minded. He

 had nothing to hide and could do nothing to prevent it in any event.

 He paid close attention as the finely tuned translator they had given him

 interpreted their conversation.

 "His responses are typically Ashregan," the S'van was saying. "Even to the trick

 questions I composed."

 "That is my opinion also." The Massood gazed at the silent prisoner. "Mentally

 and emotionally he is completely Ashregan. Physically he is unique. You have

 seen the preliminary medical report?"

 The S'van bobbed his head. "Internally he's as Human as your average soldier

 from Earth. The differences be           tween Humans and Ashregan are modest,

 but distinct. In this one they're absent except for the notable exceptions of

 the skull and fingers. He displays the familiar Ashregan bony ridges over

 recessed ears, the same expanded eye sockets, flattened nose, and the longer

 fingers with the extra knuckle on each." He gazed at the pocket readout screen

 that rested alight on his lap.

 "Of course we're not supposed to concern ourselves with physiology. That's for

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 others to delve into. We're supposed to be working on his mind, not his guts."

 "What do you intend to do with my mind?" Ranji inquired politely. "Do you think

 this will do any good?"

 "There!" The S'van xenologist was pleased. "That's the most Humanlike response

 he's given yet. No Ashregan would volunteer such a sarcastic remark in the

 course of an interrogation."

 "I was not being sarcastic." Ranji leaned back in his chair. "You don't

 understand my people at all. We may look a lot like your Humans but our thought

 processes are completely different . . . thank the Purpose! Your obtuse-ness on

 this matter is wearying."

 The S'van was not easily baited. "Oh, I don't know. I think the psychological

 data base we've managed to construct from interviews conducted with thousands of

 your kind down through the centuries has resulted in a pretty accurate profile

 of Ashregan thought processes." He chuckled and stroked his tangled steel-wool

 beard. Among Weave races the S'van were reputed to have the most highly

 developed sense of humor, together with, perversely, the otherwise utterly

 barbaric Humans.

 "There should be a Human xenologist present," said the Massood, hastening to

 add, "I intend no suggestion of incompetence, D'oud."

 "That's all right, though I'm not sure I agree with you. I don't know that a

 Human xenologist would bring any more insight to this process."

 "What are you going to do with me?" Ranji asked them. "Different interrogators

 give me different answers."

 D'oud belched. His Massood companion looked pained. "You are being taken to a

 Weave world for study. You confuse us. We are convinced that you are some type

 of mutant, though whether natural or induced it's premature to guess. That will

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 be for the specialists to determine.

 "We tend to think that many of your Humanlike physical characteristics are the

 result of Amplitur interference, of an attempt on their part to develop more

 effective warriors. Bioengineering on a large scale is standard Amplitur modus.

 We know from Koba that you are not an isolated example and that there are others

 of your physical type."

 "I don't have any Human properties." Ranji controlled his anger. "I'm entirely

 Ashregan."

 "So you have repeatedly insisted." The S'van's eyes glittered. "I'm sure you're

 telling the truth as you believe it. The reality will eventually emerge only

 from unprejudiced analysis."

 The Massood's upper lip curled by way of emphasis. "Your type is taller,

 stronger, faster, and according to the reports more aggressive than the average

 Ashregan. In short, Humanlike. How the Amplitur have managed this we do not

 know, but they can pick apart DNA as easily as I would dismember a small food

 animal."

 "The Amplitur have done nothing to me. I am Ashregan and only Ashregan. Analyze

 all you wish. You'll find nothing to support your ridiculous suppositions."

 The S'van sighed as he flipped off his readout and rose. Clearly the interview

 was at an end. It was Ranji's turn to smile.

 "I'll be happy to talk with you whenever you like. There's always the chance of

 winning an enemy to the Purpose."

 The two xenologists departed. "We need much more in the way of in-depth study

 facilities," the S'van was saying as he exited Ranji's cubicle. "These cursory

 interviews do not-" the door slid silently shut behind them, cutting him off in

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 mid-declaration.

 Shortly thereafter it reopened to admit a familiar bulbous, guileless face. A

 student of alien expression would have noted immediately that the smile with

 which Ranji greeted this new arrival was quite different from the one he had so

 recently bestowed on his interrogators.

 "Purposeful greetings to you, Itepu."

 "Warm water and light currents." The Lepar had acquired the habit of bringing

 Ranji's meals to him personally. It gave them more time to talk. Itepu enjoyed

 their conversations, so long as the Ashregan kept them simple. There was much to

 learn from him, and Itepu liked to learn.

 Ranji swung his legs off his bed and bent to inspect the meal. As usual, the

 foodstuffs were unfamiliar but edible. The ship's automatic providers knew what

 to prepare. The Weave had been taking its share of prisoners for hundreds of

 years. The workings of Ashregan physiology were neither mysterious nor

 complicated. The meals might not delight him, but they would keep him alive.

 His captors were treating him well, even to providing him with Ashregan eating

 utensils. He made use of them as the ever inscrutable Itepu looked on silently.

 Their deceptive friendliness did not fool him. Everything they did was for the

 sole aim of securing the cooperation of a valuable specimen, nothing more. If

 they harbored any illusions about turning him to their way of thinking they were

 in for an extended period of disappointment. He dug into the meal

 enthusiastically, knowing he would need his energy for the arguments to come. A

 prisoner he might be, but that did not mean he could no longer serve the

 Purpose.

 "How did the session go?" Itepu leaned back slightly, using his strong tail to

 balance himself.

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 Ranji poked something pink and fleshy into his mouth. Useless to wonder about

 drugs. He had to eat and drink in order to survive, and if they wanted to

 medicate him they could do so at any time without having to resort to

 subterfuge.

 "I think they went away frustrated." He chewed as he spoke. "I also think

 they're a little afraid of me. That's good. They should be afraid of me." He

 picked up a lump of baked grains and glanced across at the Lepar. "You're afraid

 of me, too, aren't you?"

 "Of course I am. Like any civilized race we find the very notion of combat

 unsettling and those species who engage in it quite terrifying."

 Ranji tore a chunk off the brown loaf and waved it at his visitor. "But you're

 not as afraid of me as you would be of a Human."

 "The Humans are our allies. I am not afraid of Humans."

 Ranji swallowed. "In addition to fighting, I'm trained to observe. My

 interrogators learn from me, I learn from them. I think you're lying." Itepu

 said nothing.

 "My visitors keep telling me how many Human characteristics I have, how they've

 been 'bioengineered' into my friends and me by the Teachers to enable us to

 fight more like Humans. I see how they react when they speak of such things, and

 it doesn't matter whether they're S'van, Hivistahm, O'o'yan, or Massood. It's

 been very enlightening.

 "I know from my training and studies that Ashregan and Humans look a lot alike.

 It would be foolish of me to try and deny that I look more like Humans than most

 of my kind. But that doesn't make me Human, or mean that my genes have been

 tampered with. It means only that I'm a taller, stronger, more dangerous than

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 usual Ashregan. I don't understand why your scientists keep trying to make

 something very simple into something much more complicated."

 "I would not know," replied Itepu quietly. "Such matters are beyond my

 comprehension."

 "Yes. The Lepar are a simple, straightforward people. That's why we don't

 understand why you cannot see the benefits of joining with the Purpose. Despite

 what is said for public consumption, you are looked down upon within the Weave.

 That would not be the case within the Purpose, where all species are treated as

 equals. You would be one with the Crigolit and the Ashregan and the Amplitur

 Teachers."

 "It is true that we are simple." Itepu spoke slowly and carefully. "But we are

 intelligent enough to be realists. No matter what you say, all species are not

 created equal. Since we realize and accept this, it does not trouble us. From

 that realization stems our contented independence, which we will never trade for

 some obscure alien ideal."

 Ranji sighed and pushed the remnants of his meal aside. "More skewed thinking.

 If we are allowed more time together, I hope to reveal the truth to you."

 Itepu gestured with one thick-fingered hand. "I am touched by your concern for

 my welfare.''

 Stymied by his inability to convince, Ranji reached for the container of

 fortified liquid. The contents were pleasantly tart.

 "I like you, Itepu. I like you and your fellow Lepar a great deal. I think that

 in some ways you represent the best of the Weave, though you remain as misguided

 as any. There's an innocence about you, an honesty, that's absent from your

 sophisticated allies."

 "I like you, too, Ranji-aar. I am glad that I was permitted to accompany you. It

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 must be a terrible thing to know that one is so far from one's companions, alone

 among aliens." A slight quiver ran through the amphibian, culminating in a sharp

 twitch of his tail. "I know that I could not long stand it."

 "That's because you're not a fighter. Don't condemn yourself for lack of

 abilities you were not born with. Each of us has a different role to play in

 this temporary existence."

 "In the current that meets itself." Tiny black eyes regarded him from the middle

 of an unintentionally comical face. "Are you so sure you know what your role

 is?"

 "No question about it." Ranji settled back on the bed. "To fight for the

 Purpose. To make my family and friends proud of me."

 "As I am sure they are." Itepu straightened, holding his tail off the floor. He

 smelled of the scummy water in which he and his companions spent their off-duty

 hours. "It must be a wonderful thing to be so certain of everything, to know

 always what to do, what is right and what is wrong. Sadly, the Lepar are a

 stupid folk. The universe confuses us. We have difficulty choosing from among

 infinite possibilities. If only the cosmos were a simpler place. Then we could

 be more confident, more like the S'van, or the Ashregan, or the Aniplitur.''

 "The Teachers?" Ranji blinked, surprised.

 "Yes. The Lepar think there is much to admire in the Amplitur. It is their

 attitude that troubles us. Their attitude, and their intentions."

 "It doesn't have to be like that," said Ranji earnestly. "You could change."

 Itepu touched a wall plate and the door slid aside. "I think we would rather see

 the Amplitur change." He paused in the gap.

 "I hope no harm will come to you, Ranji-aar of the Ashregan. I hope you will

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 live out a long and contented life among your own kind. There is much about you

 that intrigues me. Much that I, simple representative of a simple people, can

 never hope to understand." The door closed behind him.

 Chapter Seven

  

 The authorities went to considerable trouble to keep his arrival a secret. He

 was the only passenger on the shuttle which transferred him from the Underspace

 transport to the surface of Yula. There he was promptly hustled into a small,

 self-powered air-repulsion vehicle. It was a lot like an attack floater save for

 civilian appointments such as darkened windows and comfortable seats.

 He and his escort sped through a city of modest size and alien architecture.

 Soon they were traveling through rolling green hills dotted with small

 agricultural establishments. Fields were lush with crops: green, yellow, brown,

 and purple. Clearly Yula was a comfortable, prosperous world. Civilized.

 Peaceful. Its young people did not run mazes or simulate warfare.

 Ranji felt sorry for them.

 The fluffy, fast-moving clouds scudding past overhead were painful reminders of

 home. A few raindrops hit the vehicle's shieldfield and evaporated. He wondered

 how his parents were doing, how long it would be before they learned of his

 disappearance in battle. He tried not to think of what their reaction would be.

 Saguio would handle it best of all, he thought. Cynsa was too young to

 understand. All of them would take comfort in the knowledge that he had

 sacrificed himself fully for the Purpose.

 Except that he had not sacrificed himself fully. He was still alive. As long as

 he could still think clearly he knew he would not willingly go on living just to

 satisfy the misguided curiosity of Weave scientists. He would find a way to

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 resist, somehow. For the honor of his parents. For Kouuad, and for doomed

 Houcilat he was fated never to see.

 There might yet be opportunities to serve the Purpose.

 His captors were taking no chances. They had honored him with an escort of not

 one but two Humans-both males. A lone Wais driver sat in solitary splendor in

 the forward compartment, separated from the prisoner by a transparent shield.

 The two males flanked Ranji, their sullen, narrow faces focused straight ahead.

 If anything, they looked bored. Ranji was impressed, but far from awed.

 As evidence of the respect in which his captors held him, he was compelled to

 travel with his wrists securely bound behind his back. It was uncomfortable and

 he said so, but in this one regard, at least, his captors seemed prepared to act

 in an uncivilized manner.

 He used the travel time to study his escort. They were the first Humans he'd

 seen in the flesh whom he was not engaged in trying to kill. One was quite

 large, taller and more massive than himself. Its right ear was plugged with a

 tiny metallic button from which very faint musical sounds emerged. Whether that

 had anything to do with the way he moved in his seat, occasionally flicking his

 fingers against each other in the manner of a nervous Hivistahm, Ranji could not

 be sure. Certainly it was linked to the universal translator he also wore.

 The Human on his right looked no less competent for being smaller and slimmer.

 His skin was extremely dark, especially in contrast to that of his colleague.

 Ranji knew that color variance among the species could be extreme, whereas the

 Ashregan were all the same golden sepia hue. The man spent most of the time

 staring out the window at the rapidly changing countryside.

 They climbed into slightly more rugged terrain. Fields gave way to orchards and

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 groves of wild trees. A range of snow-capped mountains materialized in the

 distance. So far he had seen more Yulans on the ship than on this world.

 No vehicles overtook them, nor did they pass any. Only a few shot past,

 traveling in the other direction. Perhaps they were traversing some kind of

 restricted route, Ranji mused.

 Since everyone had been equipped with translators, he found himself wondering at

 the presence of the Wais. Not that their contribution to the Weave was

 restricted to translating. They could do other things almost as well. But he

 would have expected a Yula or O'o'yan driver. Possibly the ornate ornithorp was

 also a scientist, assigned to observe the specimen as it was conveyed to its

 eventual destination. He amused himself with the knowledge that the Wais

 probably found traveling in the company of two armed Humans far more unsettling

 than he did.

 The very image of isolated elegance, it never once turned to look back at its

 fellow passengers. Ranji considered lurching forward should it do so, bulging

 his eyes and baring his teeth. Very likely it would keel over in a dead faint.

 As for trying to imbue the Humans with knowledge of the Purpose, he knew

 instinctively that would be a waste of time. Uncivilized and barbaric as they

 were, it wouldn't be surprising for them to react with violence to an attempt at

 simple conversation. So he sat quietly, held his peace, and studied the world

 outside.

 They began to slow, and he leaned forward slightly for a better look. Some kind

 of attenuated freight transport was traveling north-to-south perpendicular to

 their path, forcing their pilot to come to a complete halt while they waited for

 the longer, slower machine to pass. The dark-hued Human shifted irritably in his

 seat, a disgusted expression on his face. His larger companion continued to

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 twitch to the strains of unheard music. Beneath them, the vehicle's repulsion

 unit idled softly.

 Ranji erupted from his seat, spinning to his right, the fingers of his left hand

 striking the door-release mechanism in the combination he'd memorized when he'd

 first been shoved into the vehicle. As he landed hard on the darker Human's lap

 he brought both legs up and over to grip him tightly around the neck. Twisting,

 he used powerful calf and thigh muscles to thrust his captor's upper body

 explosively forward. The man's skull slammed into the transparent barrier that

 separated the front and rear compartments. Blood splattered as Ranji released

 the dazed guard and tumbled out backward through the open door.

 ' 'Get him!'' the injured man moaned as Ranji felt the bigger Human's fingers

 fumbling at his ankles.

 Instead of dashing for the nearest trees, Ranji spun and kicked the startled

 smaller man directly beneath his chin. Weapon half-drawn, he collapsed in the

 doorway, effectively blocking his larger companion from pursuing. The big Human

 blurted a stentorian oath and turned to the door on his side of the vehicle,

 ripping the music device from his ear and fumbling for his gun. Clearly the

 prisoner was either going to sprint into the nearby orchard or else stand and

 try to fight with his feet as he'd just demonstrated he was quite capable of

 doing.

 Instead, as soon as the big man emerged and started to come around the rear of

 the vehicle toward him, Ranji jumped back in. Kicking the dark Human out, Ranji

 deftly manipulated the door controls with the toe of his boot, shutting and

 locking first one door and then the other. He was now alone in the secured rear

 compartment with the deceived guard gesticulating angrily through the window.

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 Furious, the Human rushed to the front of the vehicle and yelled at the Wais to

 open one of the front doors. Unfortunately for him, the sudden outburst of raw

 violence had shocked the omithorp into a quasicataleptic state. It sat staring

 straight ahead, feathers quivering, utterly unresponsive. The more the Human

 ranted and raved, the deeper its paralysis became. Just as Ranji had hoped.

 He could not count on the condition persisting, however. Hands still bound

 behind him, he began hunting for a way of accessing the driver's compartment.

 His obvious intent only added to the Wais's terror.

 His search revealed a small compartment built into the back of the front

 section. It contained small, finely machined instruments of alien design and

 unknown purpose. There were also a number of thin transparent cards on whose

 surface fine etching was visible.

 The excluded Human continued to pound on the window while bellowing

 untranslatable imprecations.

 Ranji turned and carefully removed the cards from the shallow compartment. His

 back to the barrier, he tried one after another in the slot obviously designed

 to receive them, hoping one would lower the transparency that separated him from

 the driver's section. A soft beep accompanied each insertion, but the barrier

 did not fall.

 The slick plastic band that tightly encircled his wrists, however, metamorphosed

 into a handful of foam beads.

 Relieved and surprised to have regained the use of his hands, he ignored the

 rampaging Human as he tried the rest of the cards. The last in the pile turned

 out to be the one he was searching for.

 The barrier vanished into the floor. In no particular hurry, Ranji pocketed the

 card as he climbed into the empty seat next to the Wais. It continued to stare

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 straight ahead, resolutely ignoring him. The big Human was now frantic.

 From the moment he'd been placed inside, Ranji had taken careful note of how the

 Wais operated the vehicle. After re-raising the barrier, he removed the control

 disk from the ornithorp's paralyzed fingers, pulling it across on its flexible

 stalk until it was in front of his seat. The disk was cleverly designed to

 accommodate a variety of manipulative digits.

 The lengthy freight vehicle which had instigated their delay had long since

 vanished southward. Experimentally resting his palm atop the unit, Ranji moved

 one finger slightly, as he'd seen the Wais do. The floater drifted forward, the

 agitated Human having to run to keep up as he pounded on the glass. Once he

 aimed his weapon through the transparency, but Ranji didn't flinch. He was

 relying on his importance as a specimen to preserve him from hostile fire.

 Sure enough, the Human backed off. But he didn't give up. Instead he grabbed the

 dangling rear door and pulled himself in. Once safely back inside the vehicle he

 straightened on the seat and carefully aimed his weapon at the card slot Ranji

 had utilized to gain entrance to the driver's compartment.

 Ranji's fingers convulsed on the disk. As the rear door slammed shut, a front

 one opened. After pounding the disk against the front part of the compartment

 until several buttons and switches had been dislodged, he calmly jumped from the

 rapidly accelerating vehicle, landing hard on the ground outside and rolling to

 his feet.

 The look on the Human's face as the vehicle sped away with him locked securely

 in the back was worth the pain in Ranji's shoulder.

 The man was going to have to shoot his way into the front seat (assuming his

 attempt shorted out the barrier's controls instead of freezing them) and try to

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 turn the vehicle around or, more likely, call for assistance on its

 communications system. It was now traveling too fast for him to consider

 duplicating Ranji's leap. Hopefully the control disk had been damaged too badly

 to function. In that event the vehicle would not slow down for quite a while. By

 then Ranji planned to be deep in the nearby woods.

 He trotted back to where the Human he'd kicked lay on his back, groaning softly.

 Ranji bent and struck the man just hard enough on the side of his neck. The

 moaning stopped, but not his breathing. Killing him would be against the tenets

 of the Purpose and would in any event do him no good.

 The man's pockets were full of personal effects which Ranji ignored. There was a

 military chronometer, which he took, along with another set of the ubiquitous

 etched cards. A small sealed square contained solid pieces of dark, sweet food.

 There was also an incongruously ordinary spool of fine plastic thread. Sadly,

 when he'd been kicked the man had dropped his weapon on the floor of the

 floater's rear compartment.

 Straightening, he surveyed his surroundings. He couldn't count on pursuit

 delaying too long, especially if the surviving guard managed to break into the

 driver's compartment and gain control without crashing the vehicle. Ranji headed

 for the thick stand of trees off to his right, using long strides to try and

 leave as little in the way of a track as possible.

 The orchard quickly gave way to dense, uncultivated woods. The terrain grew

 rougher as flat land was replaced by steep hills cut by gullies and rivulets.

 Some were dry, others cuddled running streams which nourished thick entwined

 vegetation. There was plenty of good cover. He smiled as he ran, pretending he

 was back in the Maze.

 Wild fruit was a natural food source which he planned to sample at the first

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 opportunity. Like the majority of intelligent species, the Yula were

 warm-blooded. Hopefully he would be able to eat some of the same food which

 nourished them.

 His intentions went no further than the next morning. He could not flee this

 planet, could not escape to Cossuut or any other friendly world. From now on his

 contribution to the war effort would consist of denying himself to his captors.

 Beyond that, given time and thought, he might also be able to do a little more,

 if only by disrupting the local peace and tranquillity. He wondered how long the

 secret of his escape could be kept from the local populace.

 Teoth received the news from Eighth-of-Records, who because of his job had

 access to information routinely denied the rest of the crew. Together with

 Sixth-of-Technics they had a conference of their own, during which all of his

 worst fears were confirmed.

 "The creature escaped from the vehicle in which it was being transported to the

 study site," the Hivistahm was saying. "As of the latest information I was able

 to acquire, despite mounting efforts to recapture it, it still running free was

 in the countryside."

 "I am not surprised." Teoth scuffed at the deck with his fore-center leg. "I

 almost expected something like this to happen."

 Sixth-of-Technics blinked at his friend. "Truly you do not upset at the news

 seem."

 Three eyes turned to the slightly smaller of the two Hivistahm. "Why should one

 be disappointed when one's hopes are about to be fulfilled?"

 The nighttime temperature on this part of Omaphil was moderate. Despite nerves

 and lack of facilities, Ranji was able to manage several hours' sleep.

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 Upon awakening, he scoured the nearby trees for a selection of fruit.

 Tentatively peeling and eating as efficiently as he could, he filled his belly

 and then settled down to wait. The queasiness that resulted was due as much to

 tension as to anything he'd eaten. Only when he was confident that the food he

 had consumed was going to stay down did he allow himself to drink from the

 nearby brook.

 Morning had brought a number of animals to the water's edge to quench their

 thirst. Most were clad in green and blue fur that seemed too thick for so mild a

 climate. They ignored him, accepting him as one of their own as he washed fruit

 pulp and seeds from his face and hands. Thus refreshed, he took his bearings by

 the sun and set off deeper into the forest, his eventual goal being the high

 western mountains he'd seen from the vehicle.

 They would be frantically searching the length of the road, he knew, but since

 he'd waited until the floater was out of sight before starting off, they

 wouldn't know which way he'd gone. Nor were his captors likely to have ready

 access to tracking specialists on a peaceful, civilized world like Omaphil. It

 would take time to bring in trained individuals and specialized equipment to

 hunt him down.

 He couldn't count on any of that, though. He had to assume they were already on

 his trail. The thought did not discourage him. On the contrary, the more

 resources they had to divert to tracking him down, the greater was his

 contribution to the advance of civilization.

 As the day wore on he found himself gaining in strength and determination as he

 moved along, keeping to the trees that protected him from aerial discovery as

 well as helping to mask his heat signature. The longer it took for them to

 locate him, the deeper into the mountains he could go and the more difficult it

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 would be for them to eventually dig him out. If he could find a cave system, he

 might be able to stay hidden for years.

 By the third day he had begun to gain some real altitude. Continued progress now

 involved climbing as well as simple hiking. Silently he thanked the Yula

 settlers who had kept to population centers and left this portion of Omaphil, at

 least, in its wild, undeveloped state.

 Descending a steep but shallow gorge brought him to the base of a roaring

 cataract. Where the foaming waters were sharply bent westward by an unyielding

 wall of granite he found a mass of storm-tossed driftwood that provided him with

 a fine-grained, water-polished club.

 A subsequent search through a pile of splintered rock produced several sharp

 triangular chips. His patient efforts to secure one to the end of the club with

 fibers drawn from a local plant eventually resulted in a serviceable if

 primitive weapon. He swung it in short, experimental arcs, exulting in the

 swoosh it made as it swept air aside. Now the means for defending himself

 extended beyond mere bare hands.

 Hoping to find material from which to fashion a sling, he pocketed some of the

 hard round pebbles from the bottom of the stream as he followed it for a while

 before striking off again into the brush.

 On the fifth day he killed a grazing herbivore. It was nearly his size, and

 skinning it with the crude tools at hand was a messy and time-consuming process.

 He persevered, however, and when he was through he had acquired an outer garment

 which not only would shed rain but disguise his smell. If he dropped to all

 fours and imitated the animal's gait, it might be enough to fool a casual

 observer into believing they were seeing anything but a renegade Ashregan.

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 He had now acquired weapons and camouflage that, although simple, were a great

 advance over nothing at all. With luck, his pursuers would not imagine him

 capable of such inventiveness.

 He was beginning to think he could roam the wild, heavily vegetated mountains

 forever when he was nearly surprised by the Tracker.

 Though there had to be many of them on his trail, this one was alone. No doubt

 they had spread out to cover as much of the countryside as possible. The

 procedure struck him as eminently sensible. Anyone finding evidence of his

 presence could immediately call for assistance.

 Unless he spotted them first.

 The bipedal figure was still some distance away, too far for him to make out the

 species without a scope. Probably Massood, he thought. Their height, sharp

 vision, and long stride made them notable Trackers.

 Not that it mattered. From now on he would move at night, when his pursuers were

 likely to be sleeping, and hide himself during the day. Either he would outpace

 them or they would pass him by. He began searching for his first hiding place.

 In this manner he successfully passed the first week, then a second. No doubt

 those local authorities whom the Weave had seen fit to entrust with a minimum of

 information about his escape were frantic by now, wondering where in their

 civilized midst the dangerous escaped warrior might choose to materialize.

 Better yet, they might think he'd fallen over a cliff or perished of hunger and

 scale down the pursuit.

 He was feeling very good about his situation as he worked his way through a

 night-shrouded grove of tall, oddly bent trees and stumbled over the dozing form

 of the Tracker.

 Because of the camouflage blanket, the low mound had looked like any other clump

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 of earth. Only when he started across did it yield spongily beneath his feet and

 emit a startled yelp. A blast of heat lit up the night and singed his ear as a

 weapon went off wildly under him.

 The blunt side of his club was less urbane, but more effective.

 There were no more shots. The struggling figure beneath the blanket went limp.

 Ranji staggered backward a couple of steps and sat down heavily, gulping air.

 Everything had happened so fast that he was only now beginning to sequence the

 events in retrospect. Gingerly he touched the left side of his head. He could

 still feel the heat of the bolt's passing. A finger length more to the right and

 it would have gone through his eye. If not for his extensive training and superb

 reflexes, he'd be sprawled out on the ground right now instead of sitting up

 considering his assailant.

 His instinct was to flee. Instead, he forced himself to approach the motionless

 shape under the blanket. If it was dead, its companions would soon learn of its

 fate by reason of its noncommunicativeness. Regardless, it might be carrying

 much he could use.

 After pocketing the surprisingly small gun, he dragged the blanket off the

 unconscious form and began to fold it neatly. The Tracker's pack lay near its

 feet. It was encouragingly full and would ride easily on his back. That done, he

 knelt and felt along the furless legs-clearly not Massood-until he came to the

 service belt. Undoing the secure-tight he slipped it around his own waist and

 was gratified to find that though he had to place it on the last possible

 setting, it fit.

 Continuing to probe the body in hope of finding something else useful, he was

 mildly interested to discover that the Tracker was female and mammalian, very

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 much like an Ashregan in consistency and shape. His interest was wholly

 dispassionate. The notion that anyone would find contact with a barbaric,

 half-mad, crazed Human in any way stimulating made him shudder. Not to mention

 the fact that the individual in question had just tried its best to melt his

 skull.

 It moaned softly then, proof that his reflexive blow with the club hadn't been

 fatal. When he reached the head his fingers encountered the thick wetness

 flowing from the scalp. The figure moaned again, louder this time.

 He considered how to proceed. The thought of killing another Human did not

 bother him-he'd done plenty of that on Koba-but the less damage he inflicted

 during his period of freedom, the easier it would go on him if he eventually was

 recaptured. Neither side had much sympathy for prisoners who killed while

 escaping.

 A check of the service belt turned up the expected communications module. With

 the aid of the translator that had remained in place in his ear and around his

 neck during his flight, he might be able to monitor the other Trackers'

 positions as they spoke to one another. That would be more than a little useful.

 Ought to be on my way, he mused. Still, if he lingered until the Tracker

 regained consciousness, he might be able to acquire valuable information about

 the size, disposition, and strength of his pursuit as well as the countryside in

 which he found himself. He was not Amplitur and could not mind-probe, but there

 were other methods of interrogation-following which he could always render her

 unconscious again.

 Occupying himself with a cursory search of the pack's contents in the feeble

 light of the single small moon, he settled down to wait.

 He dozed off more than once during the night, awakening each time with a start

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 at the cry or movement of some nocturnal creature. His concerns were unfounded.

 The Tracker had not moved.

 As soon as darkness began to give way to morning, he rose and walked to the

 nearest stream. Using the Tracker's collapsible purifying cup he scooped water

 from the surface and returned, putting it to her lips until she began to cough.

 Pouring the rest over her face, he settled back and watched, gun in hand.

 She rolled over and blinked without straightening. When she saw him, she woke up

 very quickly. Her gaze dropped to his waist, where her service belt rode snugly,

 then to his feet, where he had placed her pack.

 He must have made quite a picture, he mused, clad as he was in her equipment,

 his Ashregan duty suit, and the rapidly ripening animal skin. Before speaking,

 he double-checked his translator settings.

 "Sorry I had to hit you so hard, but keep in mind that you were the one doing

 the hunting. I stumbled over you in the dark and you shot at me, so I reacted as

 necessary. You might've killed me."

 "Didn't want to." She had a pleasant voice, he thought, but then there was

 little difference between the Human and Ashregan larynx. "Supposed to bring you

 in intact. For study.'' Now she sat up and felt gingerly of the lump on her head

 where his club had connected. "You surprised me, too. Might've killed me."

 He made an Ashregan gesture of negativity. "Didn't want to. Keep you alive. For

 study."

 She looked at him sideways, then smiled hesitantly. As it wasn't a maximum Human

 smile, with the concomitant obscene baring of teeth, he was able to observe it

 without flinching.

 He saw the lean muscles start to tense beneath her clothing and leisurely raised

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 the muzzle of the little heat pistol. "Please don't. Unnecessary killing

 distresses those of us who believe in the Purpose." She relaxed.

 "Better. My name is Ranji-aar, though you probably know that already, along with

 much else about me. As I find imbalance in the universe personally displeasing,

 you will be good enough to supply me with your name."

 She hesitated, then shrugged. If he wanted to, she knew he could make life

 uncomfortable for her.

 "Trondheim. Heida Trondheim. You move fast. You've been giving us a hell of a

 time."

 "Independence is a great motivator."

 She turned to face him, straightening her legs as she rose, leaning against a

 tree for support. "Enjoy it while you can. We're closing in on you. This country

 is swarming with Trackers. Any time now they're going to start missing me." She

 studied him with interest. "You must be pretty special. I'm told that when news

 of your escape reached local Command, the authorities went a little nuts."

 "Delighted to hear it. As for your friends closing in on me, they've been

 closing in on me for days. They just can't seem to catch me."

 Her gaze narrowed. "You don't talk or act like your average Ashregan. Don't look

 much like one, either."

 He bristled. There it was again, this elementary emphasis on his appearance.

 "I'm not average," he growled.

 Again her fingers felt of her forehead. "You sure don't hit average." She tensed

 again and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes. "Are you going to kill

 me?"

 "Not unless you make it necessary for me to do so. I would rather ask you some

 questions."

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 "Don't expect me to answer freely."

 "You don't have to answer freely." He gestured with the gun. "Feel free to

 answer under duress." From her service belt he removed a small device the size

 of his middle finger. It was fashioned of dull gray metal and sported a

 miniature grid at one end, a single button at the other. "What does this do?"

 Her lips drew into a tight line as she crossed her arms.

 "Very well. I suppose the only way to find out is to try it." Pointing the grid

 end at her, he placed his thumb over the button.

 Alarmed, she ducked and raised both hands defensively. Only after he'd

 reattached the device to the belt did she resignedly explain.

 "It contains a powerful binary narcoleptic gas that activates on contact.

 Designed for close-quarter capture. It's not harmful."

 "I can infer that from your reaction," he replied dryly.

 Again that hesitancy. "I swear you keep joking with me. The Ashregan don't

 joke."

 "Some of us do."

 She sat up again, dusting her shoulder off. "I studied the pictures they gave

 us, but they don't begin to suggest how close to Human your appearance is."

 "All Humans and Ashregan look alike," he replied with the tired air of one who

 was heartily sick of the subject.

 She shook her head. "Not this much. For one thing you're much too tall, taller

 than most Human males."

 "I have many friends who are considerably shorter, and others who are taller

 still. There is considerable physical variation in both our species."

 "It's more than that."

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 Her intense gaze was making him uncomfortable. If one disregarded the flattened

 skull, protruding ears, and tiny eye sockets, she was almost attractive. Her

 legs made those of the average Ashregan female look stunted, though her fingers

 were far shorter. He was glad of the intensifying daylight, which tended to

 emphasize the differences between them.

 "We were told that you were one of a group of specialized Ashregan who've been

 genetically altered by the Amplitur. Seeing you in the flesh, I can believe

 it.''

 "I am the Ashregan Unifer Ranji-aar," he reminded her stiffly. "Your

 philosophical and physical enemy. Nothing more than that. Do not think to

 compose an appeal to any imaginary 'Human' characteristics you think I possess.

 You will only be disappointed."

 "Well, you talk like an Ashregan, and you act like an Ashregan, but . . ." She

 was still dubious. "No wonder Research and Development wants to look at you so

 badly."

 "I am not flattered."

 "This is going to ruin me," she muttered. "I'll be laughed out of my unit."

 "Your personal social difficulties are of no concern to me." He rose and she

 shrank back against the tree. "I don't think you can track me without this." He

 held up the seeker visor he'd found in her pack and slowly slipped it over his

 face, the headband tightening automatically. Adjustment of its internal controls

 would provide him with greatly enhanced vision and a plethora of information on

 his surroundings.

 "With this on, I think your colleagues will have a harder time 'closing in' on

 me." He turned away from her to pick up the backpack.

 "Then you're really not going to kill me." She was still hesitant.

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 "I've already told you: those who believe in the Purpose-"

 "Yeah, yeah. Some of your allies take a less exalted attitude on the

 battlefield."

 He took a step toward her. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to render you

 unconscious again. Just to preserve my lead. Nothing personal."

 She sighed. "If you must. I hope you trip over a rock and break both legs.

 Nothing personal."

 He smiled. "I must tell you that your appearance borders on the attractive."

 Her gaze narrowed. "Don't go getting any funny ideas. We're different species."

 "Ah," he said, gratified. "Then you don't think we're that much alike after

 all." Holstering the heat gun, he hefted his club.

 Chapter Eight

  

 Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have been trapped so easily, but his

 unnatural attraction to the Human female had made him careless. The result was

 that he fell victim to a relatively clumsy ambush.

 By the time he realized what was happening it was too late. Fur bristling,

 triple eyes staring, the Yula stepped out from behind the boulder in front of

 him while the Hivistahm-Hivistahm!-rose from behind the fallen log off to his

 right. Each held a stinger focused on different parts of his body. He didn't

 recognize the weapons type . . . not that it mattered.

 He was furious with himself. A moment ago he'd been preparing to set off into

 the real mountains, better equipped to remain at large than he'd been since his

 initial escape. Now all was lost. Not to Human or Massood Trackers, but because

 of a native and a Hivistahm, noncombatants both.

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 The Hivistahm he thought he could outmaneuver, but he knew nothing of Yula

 reaction time. The triped spoke through a translator.

 "Put your right hand atop your head and drop the club you hold to the ground,

 then put your left hand atop your right. Do it quickly, please!"

 As soon as Ranji had complied the Hivistahm bounded forward and, trembling

 slightly, removed the heat pistol from the service belt and retreated.

 "Good." The tiny black eyes never wavered. "Please keep your hands where they

 are so that I may note the position of your manipulative digits at all times."

 Out of the corner of an eye Ranji saw that the Hivistahm was still trembling,

 and he wondered how the highly civilized, inoffensive creature had been talked

 into participating in the ambush.

 The Human rose and brushed at the back of her suit. "It's about time relief got

 here, though I was expecting one of my own kind. Not that I'm complaining,

 mind." She started toward him.

 "Stop there, please."

 Halting, she gaped at the Yula. It had remained motionless while confronting the

 prisoner, but under that Human stare it quivered ever so slightly. Ranji noted

 the reaction.

 "What is this?" she murmured. "I'm one of the designated Trackers. You two have

 done well and will be suitably commended. I'll see to that myself. But you're

 not trained soldiers. I am. I'm not trying to steal your thunder. I'll hold the

 gun while you take my stuff off him. Then we'll call for a sled to lift us all

 out of here." She took another step.

 The Yula retreated an equal distance and flicked the muzzle of its weapon in her

 direction. "Stay where you are, Human. Do not make me tell you again. Your

 presence here complicates matters and I am trying to decide how to proceed."

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 Hands atop his head, Ranji watched and waited silently for an opening.

 "You want to take it back alive, to keep it here on Omaphil for observation and

 study," the Yula was saying.

 "Of course." The woman continued to stare at the triped.

 "I cannot let you do that." Its fluffed-up fur made the native look twice as big

 as it actually was. "The thing has to die."

 "What are you talking about?" Trondheim's gaze was focused on the stinger.

 "Don't you realize what an impressive accomplishment this is for one of your

 species, how you'll be feted when the word gets out that you and a Hivistahm

 captured an escaped Ashregan warrior?"

 "We do not want to do anything 'impressive,' " the Yula told her.

 "Truly feted we do not wish to be," added the Hivistahm.

 With the rocking, jerky motion of its kind, the Yula took a double step toward

 Ranji. "The thing needs to die. It is a dangerous mutation, an aberration that

 could wreak havoc on Omaphil were it to escape from captivity. As it already

 has. So much for vaunted government safeguards." He gestured with the pistol.

 "Look at it! Twisted and distorted by the addition of Human fighting

 characteristics. Can one imagine anything so grotesque? It will be better off

 dead."

 "How did you know that I had escaped?" Ranji asked curiously.

 The Yula did something with its tiny mouth which might have been the equivalent

 of a smile. "I have well-informed friends."

 "Then your friends should've told you that its fate is not for you to decide."

 Trondheim glanced in Ranji's direction. "There's a sled on its way here now. How

 are you going to explain their dead specimen to them when they arrive?"

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 "We did not think of that.'' The Hivistahm scanned the sky uneasily. "Truly we

 did not think of that."

 "Be quiet!" Teoth snapped. "The female attempts to preserve the monster's life

 with the aid of a fabrication." He aimed the pistol. "This will only take an

 instant and then we will be away from this place."

 "As a Human soldier of the Weave I am ordering you to turn your weapons and this

 prisoner over to me!" Trondheim took a step toward the triped, eyes glittering.

 "Or are you going to shoot me, too?"

 "You may kill me after, but that does not matter." Teoth was calm, anesthetized

 by the prospect of incipient martyrdom. "My life is not important. I gladly die

 to preserve my world from this creature. If word of its presence was made known

 there would be panic. The Weave had no right to bring it here. Omaphil is

 peaceful and civilized. I shall insure that it so remains." It looked back at

 Ranji.

 "Do not attempt to convince me otherwise. I was on the ship with it. I watched,

 and I know.''

 "Word won't get out," Trondheim told him.

 Teoth made a gargling sound deep in his throat. "It has already escaped custody

 once."

 "It won't happen again." She spoke slowly and deliberately.

 For the first time, the Yula seemed to hesitate. "Can you guarantee that? Can

 you assure it beyond doubt? I think not. Its presence here says not. Better it

 should die."

 Trondheim advanced another step and extended a hand. She was quite close to the

 native now, Ranji noted. "I'm afraid I can't allow that. If you're going to

 shoot it, then you're going to have to kill me, too. Now give me that pistol.''

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 The use of the Human command tone shook Ranji slightly. Unsurprisingly, it

 rattled the Yula even more. As soon as the weapon's muzzle had drifted

 sufficiently toward the woman, Ranji moved.

 The sandy gravel he kicked up struck the Yula in the face. It uttered a

 high-pitched squeak, dropped the gun, and clawed at its eyes with the

 instinctive reaction of a nonfighter. Ranji pivoted and leaped to within arm's

 length of the Hivistahm. Bug-eyed, it fired wildly as Trondheim dove for cover.

 Neatly severed by the stinger, a large branch tumbled from a nearby tree.

 As he landed Ranji brought his closed fist around in a sweeping arc to strike

 the Hivistahm in the left eye. Fragile occipital bones crunched and blood

 squirted. The much smaller, reptilian creature gave a slight shudder and

 collapsed onto its haunches, then onto its side.

 Brushing grit from sensitive eyes, the Yula bent its fore-center leg and reached

 to recover its weapon. As it did soRanji spied a fist-sized stone, snatched it

 up, aimed and threw all in one motion. A Human or Massood might have been able

 to dodge, but the Yula was not nearly so quick. The rock struck it above the

 middle eye, denting fur and bone both. It exhaled reverberantly and fell

 backward.

 Panting hard, he stood wondering at the psychosis which would drive a Yula and

 Hivistahm to such a confrontation. Before he could come up with any answers,

 something heavy hit him in the ribs. Much more massive than a Yula or Hivistahm,

 it sent him sprawling.

 Trondheim rolled off him and scrambled for the pistol still clutched in the

 motionless Hivistahm's fingers. Ignoring the pain in his side, Ranji flung

 himself in pursuit, landing on the back of her thighs. She twisted and pain shot

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 through his whole body as her elbow connected with his nose.

 Wrenching the pistol from the unconscious alien, she whirled and fired, aiming

 to wound, not kill. Ranji froze, waiting for the bolt from the stinger to take

 effect. Nothing happened. Frowning, she sighted carefully along the barrel and

 fired again.

 An unsmiling Ranji climbed to his feet and charged.

 It all made perfect sense. The Yula had been very much in command, just as it

 had been quite mad. Not being possessed by a similarly extreme form of insanity,

 the Hivistahm had agreed to provide backup . . . but could not bring itself to

 handle a loaded weapon capable of killing another intelligent being. The stinger

 it had carried was not charged. It didn't really need to be, since their quarry

 wouldn't know otherwise.

 He did now.

 Trondheim threw the useless weapon at him and made a dive for the Yula's gun.

 She would have beaten a normal Ashregan to it, but not Ranji. It was his turn to

 hit her hard in the ribs. She wheezed painfully and tried to use the elbow

 again, but this time he was ready for it and the blow caught him harmlessly on

 the shoulder. As it did so he brought the edge of his palm down against the side

 of her neck and she went limp.

 Panting hard, he rose slowly and picked up the Yula's stinger, not taking his

 eyes off her as he did so. Next he walked back to the Hivistahm and recovered

 her heat pistol. Only then did he allow himself to relax a little. He took his

 time rearranging the backpack and service belt, sorting through the pack's

 contents as he waited for her partial paralysis to wear off.

 Finally she sat up, rubbing her neck and staring at him. "You're very good." The

 admission came grudgingly. "More than just quick. A lot more. Better than any

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 Ashregan I ever heard about."

 "Thank you." He straightened his translator, which had been knocked askew but

 not broken during the fight.

 "Not only don't you fight like any Ashregan, you don't even feel like an

 Ashregan."

 "And how many Ashregan have you felt? Not that I understand what you're saying."

 "Your bones, your muscles. They're too dense. It's one of the traits that makes

 Humans so tough. Our bones aren't hollow like those of most other intelligent

 species and we have more muscle fibers, so we're stronger and heavier. Strength

 and mass aren't Ashregan characteristics. You felt like a Human, not an

 Ashregan."

 "I reiterate: How many Ashregan have you felt?"

 She didn't look away. "I'm only repeating what I learned in training."

 "Weave intelligence is far from perfect." Try as he might he couldn't just brush

 her observations aside, not least because the Hivistahm and Lepar who had

 captured him on Eirrosad had made much of similar observations.

 "So you're what the Amplitur have been up to. It makes sense. Genetically you're

 their nearest allies to us, so you'd be the easiest to imbue with Human

 characteristics. Be a helluva lot harder with an Acaria or Korath. Doesn't it

 make you think?''

 "About what? I think only of the Purpose."

 "Well, think about this for a change. If the squids keep screwing with your

 racial DNA, how long before you become more bastardized Human than honest

 Ashregan?"

 "That is not possible," he insisted. But the notion upset him.

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 "Isn't it? The squids play with DNA the way a kid does with building blocks. How

 do you know what they are and aren't capable of? We've never underestimated

 them. Why should you? Look at yourself: Human size, muscles, bone density,

 reflexes. How do you know what the hell you are? How much of you is still

 Ashregan?''

 Ranji was silent for a long moment. "My mind is all Ashregan," he said finally.

 "So are my intentions. I have been privileged to experience mind-to-mind contact

 with the Teachers themselves, to receive accolades and advice from them

 directly. No Human could do that. Your nervous system would react violently and

 defensively."

 Trondheim considered. "All that proves is that your nervous system is still

 Ashregan. Externally, except for your skull and hands, the rest of you is as

 Human as me or any of my cohorts."

 "Appearances mean nothing." The assurance Ranji voiced so readily did not extend

 to his thoughts. What was he, really?

 A servant of the Purpose, he reminded himself firmly. Biological coincidences

 notwithstanding. He indicated the badly injured Yula and Hivistahm.

 "The more contact I have with representatives of the Weave, the more convinced I

 am of the righteousness of the cause. Your governments fight, your organizations

 argue, and as individuals you spend much of your time engaged in petty

 internecine squabbling. I want no part of that."

 "You haven't been given a choice."

 He eyed her derisively. "Did you notice that your so-called friends and allies

 feared the threat of attack from you more than from me? What kind of higher

 civilization is that?"

 She glanced down at the unconscious Yula. "These two were extremists. Probably

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 mentally unbalanced as well."

 "But what if they were not? What if their greater fear of you was the sensible,

 intelligent attitude to take?"

 "We're not exactly universally popular throughout the Weave. But we're

 respected. I have a number of non-Human friends."

 "Are you so certain? Or do they just force themselves to be pleasant when in

 your company so as not to offend you?"

 "Hey. you're the one we're discussing here. For better or worse, I know what I

 am." She sounded sad. "The Amplitur and their damn 'Purpose.' Look what they've

 done to your people. Not to mention the Molitar, and the Segunians, and the poor

 Wadir. Turned them into soldiers, fighters for the Amplitur cause, when all they

 want is to be left alone."

 "No race wants to be 'left alone,' " Ranji told her.

 "My kind does."

 He hoped his response would translate. "I rest my case."

 She sighed and sat down on a nearby log, careful to keep both hands where he

 could see them. "Doesn't it bother you that your supposed 'Teachers' might have

 messed with your genetic makeup without your knowledge or consent, might've been

 busily splicing your genes like toy cutouts while you were still in the womb?"

 "Nothing like that took place. Nothing like that would be allowed to take

 place."

 "How do you know? Because they told you so? You must know how forceful their

 'suggestions' can be."

 "I am Ashregan," he all but shouted. "Not the product of genetic engineering!"

 "No," she murmured almost pityingly. "Just the byproduct."

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 "I don't need to think about it. I know."

 She eyed him intently. "Maybe you do. Maybe you do. But I think you're either a

 greatly gifted liar or else you've been completely mindwashed by the squids."

 She rose and he tensed slightly, but she made no move toward him.

 "Well, it's obvious I'm not going to convince you otherwise. Maybe this one was

 right." She prodded the prone Yula with a foot. "Maybe it'd be better if he had

 shot you." She looked back at him. "If you're going to knock me out, get on with

 it. I'm fed up with trying to talk to someone who's unable to speak for himself.

 I don't blame you; it's not your fault. But it's boring, and I'm tired."

 Ranji rose and drew the little cylinder full of sleep gas from the service belt.

 Despite her outward show of bravado he saw her flinch expectantly. He hesitated.

 "Perhaps I will allow you to remain conscious for a while yet. Every time you

 open your mouth you tell me something useful."

 "Then you're easily sated."

 "Yes," he told her, pleased with his decision, "I think that for now I'll have

 you accompany me. If you become too much of a burden there are always the

 alternatives." He looked back the way he'd come. "And if your peers are closing

 in on us, it would be useful to have a hostage."

 "So now I'm a hostage?" Her eyebrows arched. "What makes you think I won't break

 your neck the first time you doze off, or shove you over the nearest cliff the

 next time you relax?"

 "Nothing," he told her blandly. "The implied threat of your company will help to

 keep me alert." He smiled thinly. "Keep in mind that if you do try something

 like that I may not have time to gauge my response. Keep in mind also that if

 your theory is correct and certain of my abilities and characteristics have been

 bioengineered into me by the Amplitur, I may also possess abilities you know

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 nothing about and cannot imagine."

 There! he thought with satisfaction. That's got her thinking. "Did I not just

 defeat you?"

 "Yeah, you did," she admitted, downcast. "But you surprised me in my sleep. I

 wasn't ready for you. And I was expecting to have to fight an Ashregan. A

 bigger, tougher version of an Ashregan, but an Ashregan nonetheless. You," and

 she gave him another of her uninterpretable looks, "you're something different."

 "Remember that as we walk." He put the sleep canister back on the belt, hefted

 the backpack, and slid the seeker visor down over his eyes. Then he gestured

 with the Yula's stinger. "I think it's time we moved away from here."

 She started off in the indicated direction, glancing back over a shoulder as she

 spoke. "You won't find anything up there. I've seen the topos. It gets rugged

 and steep and there's no serious climbing equipment in that pack."

 "I'm not concerned. I have you to test any dangerous places for me. Since you'll

 be walking in front, I think I can rely on you to choose the safest path."

 She stared back at him as if trying to see past the Ashregan mask, past the

 narrow-minded dedication, to the real individual within. Then she shrugged and

 turned away from him.

 Later that night she said, "You're awfully young to be a Unifer. That's a

 command rank among your kind."

 Pistol close at hand, he kept an eye on her as he ate ravenously from one of the

 self-heating food packs he'd found among her supplies. "Humans also advance

 rapidly."

 "Yeah, but we're born to be warriors. We don't have to be 'suggested' into it."

 Finishing the food, he carefully slipped the empty packet into a hole dug for

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 the purpose and covered it over. "You Humans. You're as unfamiliar with the

 other races as you are with the Purpose. All you know is fighting and killing."

 She smiled. "It's something we're good at." Of apology in her confession there

 was none. "We know other things, too. But when you get a reputation for

 something ..." She paused a moment, then slid closer to him. "You're so damn

 Human-looking. Except for that face, and your fingers. A keyboardist's fingers."

 He picked up the pistol. "That's close enough."

 "Take it easy. I just want to see something. You've got the gun. If I make any

 sudden moves you can shoot me."

 Slowly she reached out and gently traced the ridge of bone that ran from the

 back of his right cheek along the side of his face and up over his recessed ear.

 Her fingers withdrew, touched the flattened nose, and retreated. His skin

 tingled from the brief contact.

 "Well, it's real, all right," she said, sitting back.

 "Of course it's real. What did you expect? Plastic?"

 "I don't know." She sounded somehow disappointed. "It's just that the rest of

 you is so Human. I half expected everything else to be fake."

 "Nothing about me is fake," he told her.

 When she didn't comment he opened another of the food packets and waited

 patiently for it to heat. Steam began to issue from the perforated lid as the

 container expanded, drawing moisture from the air as it cooked. The result was

 chewy and full of meat bits.

 When he'd finished half he offered her the rest. Without hesitation she accepted

 and ate, scouring the packet clean.

 A quick search of the area turned up a hollow filled with small branches,

 leaves, and other forest detritus. After hanging the backpack and service belt

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 high in a nearby tree, he bunched the debris into a soft bed. She was clearly

 surprised when he offered it to her.

 "This is for my comfort, not yours," he explained. "There's no way you can roll

 off that or even stand up without crunching dried stuff and making noise. I'm a

 light sleeper and I have very good hearing."

 She eyed the mound of dry fluff. "Sometimes I toss in my sleep."

 He gestured with the stinger. "Better train yourself fast to lie quietly.''

 When he awoke just before dawn the mound was empty. But she had not fled.

 Instead he was startled to find her curled up against him. He reached for the

 pistol, only to have her hand cover his. The resultant struggle was brief, and

 indifferent.

 She was extremely close and she felt very Ashregan.

 "It's all right," she whispered. "You probably can break my neck if you want to.

 But there were things I wanted to, had to know. I got curious, that's all. I'm

 only Human." She pulled away slightly.

 "That doesn't explain why you're still here."

 She rolled onto her back, staring at the sky. "I'm not sure I've got a better

 explanation. All I know is that you could've shot me, back there. You didn't."

 "I've already explained that. You're useful both as a source of information and

 as a hostage." He was watching her closely. "There has to be more to it than

 that."

 She seemed to reach some critical inner decision. "It doesn't matter. My

 colleagues are going to run you to ground eventually. Damn my curiosity. I

 didn't really want to be a Tracker. I should've gone into Research." She moved

 against him anew.

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 He sensed it was not to attack.

 Chapter Nine

  

 When he awoke the following morning she was sitting off to one side, deep in

 contemplation. The thin stick protruding from her lips gave off wisps of

 aromatic smoke at periodic intervals, Reflexively, his fingers felt for the

 pistol.

 It wasn't there.

 Nor were they alone any longer. Three other Humans sat off to his right. The two

 males were enjoying their morning meal while their female companion paid close

 attention to Ranji, the grid of the narco cylinder held firmly in her left hand

 aimed unwaveringly at his face.

 Seeing that he was awake, the nearest male turned in his direction and spoke

 politely through a translator.

 "We decided to let you sleep. After the race you've ran us we figured you must

 be exhausted, and we want to deliver you in good condition. Don't think we'd

 have caught up with you yet if we'd done much sleeping ourselves."

 His gaze shifted from the new arrivals to the Human Heida Trondheim. She sat

 parallel to him on a smooth rock, her slim form outlined against the rising sun,

 knees drawn halfway up to her chest.

 "Sorry," she said. "I told you my friends would catch up with us."

 "I thought-" he started to reply. What had he thought? What could he conceivably

 have been thinking?

 It was simple enough. He hadn't been thinking. If he'd been thinking he would

 have shot her.

 He'd been very tired, and she had been warm, and comforting, and understanding,

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 and had raised intriguing issues of mutual interest, and the two of them had

 been very alone.

 The look on his face must have been close enough to its Human equivalent for her

 to recognize. "You know, I thought about helping you stay free for a while. I

 really did." She shifted her legs around. "It must be terrible to be all alone

 so far from friends and family and familiar surroundings. But it would only have

 postponed the inevitable, and you had two loaded weapons. You might've shot at

 someone, and they might've shot back. I didn't want to see you killed."

 "Why should you care?" He stared searchingly. "What difference does it make to

 you what happens to one enemy soldier?"

 "Because I'm not sure you are an enemy." She sucked on the slim, silvery stick.

 Fragrant haze momentarily obscured her expression.

 One of her male counterparts glanced at her. ' 'What's that supposed to mean,

 Heida?"

 "Have you looked at him? I mean, taken a really good, close look at him?"

 The woman holding the gun on Ranji responded. "We all saw the images. They were

 pretty detailed. He's supposed to be some kind of a cross, isn't he? A mutated

 Ashregan?''

 "Maybe," Trondheim murmured. "Or maybe something else."

 "Not our business to propose answers.'' The man pulled a tab on his empty meal

 pack and watched as it turned to biodegradable powder. "We track; Research and

 Development pontificates.''

 Ranji marveled at his calmness. He could have been angry at her but he wasn't.

 After all, it wasn't as if she'd betrayed an intimacy. Their brief interaction

 had been nothing more than a scientific experiment. She'd as much as said so.

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 They were representatives, albeit compatible representatives, of two different

 species. She could not "betray" him if she wanted to.

 If he was angry at anyone it was at himself. For succumbing, for letting down

 his guard. He drew what consolation he could from the knowledge that nothing in

 his training had prepared him for what had transpired the previous night.

 They were very careful with him this time. Everyone had heard the story of his

 escape, and they were determined not to repeat the error of his earlier escort.

 The sled that arrived to pluck the Trackers and their prisoner off the mountain

 carne equipped with limb restraints and a lockable compartment hastily installed

 for the benefit of a single important guest. It afforded him privacy while

 easing the minds of his hosts.

 He saw Heida Trondheim several times during the flight back down the mountain as

 the sled retraced in minutes terrain it had taken him days to cross on foot, but

 they did not speak. He did not feel so inclined and she appeared uncertain and

 hesitant.

 The sled sped through orchards and across fields of rippling grains. Eventually

 it approached another range of mountains, lower and less impressive than those

 which had given Ranji temporary shelter. The sled hovered while a barrier in one

 yellow-brown hillside parted. It closed behind the vehicle as it ducked inside.

 He'd expected an underground base. The Weave would not be likely to place it on

 the surface where the import of its presence might disturb the civilized

 inhabitants.

 The apartment they gave him was spacious, even luxurious, his quarters

 commensurate with the importance they attached to him. That did not make it any

 less a cell. There were scenic viewscreens on which he could call up custom

 landscapes, but no windows. A cursory inspection of his new home suggested

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 strongly that he would not be escaping it any time soon.

 Well, he had managed to unsettle them for a couple of weeks, he still had the

 tenets of the Purpose to console him, and he was alive and intact. Opportunities

 to create mischief might again present themselves.

 He was provided with captured or synthesized Ashregan entertainment and food. It

 was rather more hospitality than he would have expected from Humans, but then

 he'd seen no Humans since his arrival. Apparently the base was staffed

 principally by Hivistahm, O'o'yan, S'van, and of course, Yula. One day a

 chelatinous, alien Turlog stopped by to gaze inscrutably, its eyes weaving

 lazily at the tips of extensible stalks, but no Humans came to visit him.

 There were periodic interview sessions conducted by methodical Hivistahm and,

 once, a pair of Massood. He spoke freely about himself, refusing only those

 queries which he thought might have some slight military value. They did not

 press him on those questions he declined to answer. Not yet. This was because

 they were far more interested in him than in any information he carried.

 The medical tests and examinations were far more intimidating, though he was

 never hurt or subjected to any painful stimulation. It was the unfamiliarity of

 the equipment and procedures, the fact that he had no idea what to expect, that

 he found daunting.

 Once they slid him on a pallet into a machine that enclosed him like a

 cylindrical coffin and bathed his body in light of alternating colors and

 intensity. As with similar tests, he emerged physically unscathed but mentally

 apprehensive, and as always no unpleasant aftereffects resulted.

 They took samples of his blood, of his waste and his skin, hair, and bone. He

 was probed and prodded, scanned and scoped, calibrated and appraised. It went on

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 endlessly. In all that time he, saw not a single Human, and why should he? They

 were soldiers, warriors, not scientists and research specialists. They did not

 study; they destroyed.

 He was not especially displeased, only piqued by their absence. It would have

 been disconcerting, for example, for Heida Trondheim to have been among the

 personnel examining him. Far easier to remain dispassionate and aloof in the

 presence of querulous Hivistahm and S'van.

 The idea of suicide did not occur to him. That was an alien concept familiar to

 him only from studies. Killing oneself constituted an offense against the

 Purpose by depriving it of an otherwise undamaged and potentially contributory

 intelligent mind. It was a gesture that could be conceived of only by truly

 alien beings. Like Humans.

 He was not let in on his examiners' discussions and so had no idea if their

 extensive studies of him were resulting in anything useful. When not under

 observation he tried to relax as best he could, maintaining mental alertness and

 physical conditioning so that in the event his captors grew lazy or

 overconfident he would be ready to seize any opportunity to escape or cause

 trouble that might present itself. While one lived, one could still serve the

 Purpose.

 Twice a day they took him topside, as he came to think of it, for a stroll in a

 secluded, fenced, parklike area, where he could exercise, bask in the sun, and

 smell cultivated Omaphilian flora. Though only a single guard accompanied him on

 his sojourns, he did not delude himself into thinking he could get more than a

 few steps away from the complex by climbing the vine-covered wall. They would be

 alert for anything so obvious; therefore, he made no moves in that direction.

 His captors were not stupid. The presence of only a single escort was proof in

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 itself no others were needed.

 So he spent his time learning the names of various trees and flowers, and toying

 with the odd-shaped pink-hued fish and multishelled domesticated cephalopods

 that swam in the garden's central pool. Once while he was topside it rained, and

 the evident delight he took in the unfettered natural phenomenon almost moved

 his Massood guard to sympathy. Almost.

 Then came a day when the routine was broken. He knew it was going to be

 different when Humans instead of Massood arrived to escort him. As they exited

 the familiar elevator they turned him left instead of right.

 ' 'What's up? Where are we going?''

 The big, burly dark-skinned Human on his immediate right didn't reply. He earned

 what appeared to be an unnecessarily large weapon. Ranji eyed it longingly, but

 knew that even if he could appropriate it, it would do him no good to do so.

 Each weapon here was attuned to its individual owner's unique electrical

 signature and no one else, not another guard and certainly not a prisoner, could

 make it fire.

 "Is something the matter?" The farther they walked, the larger unpleasant

 thoughts loomed in his imagination. "I'm not scheduled for anything at this time

 of day."

 "Look, buddy, I don't know nothing." The translator managed to convey the other

 Human's gruffness along with his words. "I'm just taking you where I'm supposed

 to. I don't know what happens after you get there any better than you do,

 understand?"

 "I understand," Ranji replied, though he didn't.

 They took him to a room he hadn't visited before. In addition to a small table

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 and chairs it contained the ubiquitous wall-mounted communications screen, some

 medical equipment of modest complexity, couches, and potted plants. Except for

 the instruments it looked more like a lounge than an examination room. He

 thought it deceptively welcoming in appearance.

 Not unlike Heida Trondheim, he thought. She sat on one of the couches and turned

 in his direction as soon as he entered. Instead of her camouflaged Tracker gear

 she wore a light rust-and-white-colored uniform. Detailed patches lined her

 right sleeve. He was surprised to see her but uncertain whether to be pleased.

 Two other Humans looked up from the medical equipment. One was exceptionally

 short, almost as short as a S'van. Ranji knew it was not a member of that highly

 intelligent race because of the absence of the characteristic S'van hirsuteness.

 Both wore identical high-necked beige-and-black suits. Neither looked much like

 a warrior.

 The room's population included a Massood of advanced maturity. She was slightly

 stooped, and most of her cranial and facial fur had aged to a rich silver hue.

 Ranji had no idea if it was due to her many years or to other circumstances, but

 for one of her kind she was unusually self-possessed. Her whiskers and nose

 hardly twitched at all as she examined the new arrival. She was surrounded by

 several Hivistahm and O'o'yan but, rather surprisingly, no S'van or Wais.

 The two guards remained outside, flanking the open door. A farrago of round and

 vertical pupils stared back at him.

 ' 'Please sit down.'' The taller of the two Humans spoke perfect Ashregan.

 Startled, Ranji complied. Obstinacy would gain him nothing, and besides,

 rejection for its own sake burned proteins.

 There followed a pause as awkward as it was brief before a mature, extremely

 self-possessed Hivistahm approached him.

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 "I am First-of-Surgery." The scaly green alien studied him with a fearlessness

 remarkable for one of his kind. Or perhaps, Ranji decided, it was merely

 scientific detachment. Whichever, he was duly impressed. "I the honor have in

 charge of the examination to be placed.''

 "Examination?" Ranji determinedly avoided looking in Heida Trondheim's

 direction. "What are you charged with 'examining'?"

 "You. Truly it has enlightening been to observe you these past weeks."

 "Sorry I can't say the same." He indicated the assemblage with a sweep of his

 hand and was gratified to see several of those present flinch. "Why the party?

 Are you going to let me go?" He smiled thinly.

 "Actually, we are not quite sure what to do with you." Ranji turned toward the

 speaker. The shorter Human's Ashregan was not as fluent as that of his

 companion, but despite an atrocious accent his words were comprehensible. "You

 are an anomaly."

 "So I've been told. I'm glad you're confused."

 "Perhaps you can that help us to resolve," the Hivis-tahm hissed softly. "We

 would like you some pictures to look at."

 In response to his gesture an O'o'yan handed him an oversized plastic envelope.

 Delicate fingers explored the interior, brought forth a rectangular

 tridimensional image.

 "This the interior of your brain is."

 Warily Ranji turned his attention to the flat sheet, conscious of the fact that

 everyone in the room was watching him intently. Heida Trondheim, too? He chose

 to aifect indifference.

 After careful consideration he handed it back to the surgeon. ' 'Is there

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 something here that's supposed to surprise me? I see an Ashregan brain. Nothing

 more."

 "For the moment I would simply like you at all of these to look. Elucidation

 will follow." The Hivistahm patiently passed Ranji two more sheets. He glanced

 at each before returning them. They were side and front views of the first.

 The fourth was different.

 "This a close-up image of one small part of your brain is. Truly much reduced."

 The surgeon extracted still another sheet. "And this another." A slim-boned

 finger tapped the plastic, the finely manicured claw seeming to sink into the

 image. "I ask that you in particular note the minuscule white spot which has

 been in deep red color-enhanced. ''

 Ranji's gaze narrowed momentarily before he once more passed the sheet back.

 "Glad to oblige. Anything else?" So suffused in droll solemnity was the

 gathering that he nearly burst out laughing. "I'm afraid that as revelations go

 this misses the mark. I've seen pictures of my insides before."

 "I am certain that you have." First-of-Surgery hung close. "If you do not object

 I should like for you your attention to devote to them one more time."

 Ranji sighed. If this was some kind of test, at least it was less discomfiting

 than others he had undergone.

 "This picture here, for example." The Hivistahm removed a compact indicator from

 a vest pocket and used it to highlight portions of the image. "Do you see these

 points . . . here, here, and here?" The indicator shifted precisely as he spoke.

 Ranji squinted, unimpressed. "What about them? Am I supposed to volunteer

 identification? They could be bits of bone, or blood vessels. You're the

 surgeon, not I. If you're offering me lessons on my own physiology, I don't need

 any.''

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 "Truly that to be seen remains." The indicator moved anew. "These are grafting

 points." Wide slitted eyes gazed up at him, both eyelids drawn back. "You no

 comment have?''

 Ranji blinked at the image, trying to make sense of what the Hivistahm was

 saying. What was the object of all this, anyway? Why were there so many of them

 in the room, and why were they all watching him so closely? What did it matter

 if such things were inside his head, or anywhere else in his body?

 "No, I don't have any comment." He tapped the plastic. "This means nothing to

 me. Should it?"

 "It should indeed." The surgeon removed another of the sheets. "That the right

 side of your skull was. This the left is. On this one you will see three

 additional points. Note that as to location they are to the previous three

 identical. It is thought that this work very early was carried out."

 "Still means nothing to me." Ranji was cautiously indifferent. "Does it mean

 something to you?"

 "Truly. It tells me that the prominent bony ridges which just beneath each of

 your eyes begin and over your ears and into the back of your skull run are not

 natural, but rather the result of prenatal osteoplasty.''

 Ranji started to reply, hesitated, instead said slowly, "I don't know what

 you're talking about."

 "Permit me." First-of-Surgery strained on the toes of his sandals to reach the

 right side of Ranji's face. With a clawed finger he delicately traced the

 prominent bony line which dominated each side of the prisoner's skull.

 "These are to you not natural. They are of surgery and implants the result. Your

 skin was similarly modified to allow for the additional unnatural projections.

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 The same sort of modification has to your occipital orbits, ears, and fingers

 been done. Everything carried out was before you were born, before your bones

 time to set had.

 "To insure that such work 'takes' without interfering with the natural process

 of bone maturation and fusion requires skills we do not possess. Only one

 species at bioengineering so clever is." He replaced the current sheet with a

 new one.

 "See here, your hands. Again the grafting points." Ranji stared without

 comprehending.

 "But ... if any of what you say is true, why?"

 The Hivistahm's teeth clicked softly. "To give you the appearance of an

 Ashregan. If one backward works to delete these points and their projected

 effects, the result is a quite different skeleton." He hesitated and took a step

 away from the prisoner. "Truly truly what one has is not a mutant Ashregan, but

 a normal Human."

 Ranji snorted derisively. "That's crazy."

 First-of-Surgery slipped the pictures back into their protective envelope. "The

 rest of your body-your muscular structure, density, organ placement and

 function, sensitivity of sense, everything-comfortably within Human-normal

 parameters sits. You grade out high-end Homo sapiens, not off-the-scale

 Ashregan. You are as Human as the three others in this room.''

 The prisoner's gaze darted reflexively to the Ashregan-fluent woman and her

 squat male associate. They stared evenly back at him.

 "This is more than aberrant; it's insane. No, it's more subtle than that. You're

 all trying to trick me. You've got some ulterior purpose in mind and in order to

 carry it through you need to confuse and trick me. You might as well forget it.

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 I'm not so easily fooled."

 "Perhaps not," said the short Human, "but you're not stupid, either. You scored

 as high in intelligence as you did in everything else. Environmental factors

 aside, scanner tridis aside, can't you tell just by looking at yourself that

 you're more Human than Ashregan?" His companion took up the refrain.

 "No Ashregan ever grew bones as dense as yours, or had such median muscular

 strength. No Ashregan ever had your reflexes or striking ability." The emphasis

 on the elements of the ruse he expected and was prepared for, but not the

 imploring tone in her voice.

 Still he remained perfectly composed. "I concede that I may have been slightly

 altered to give me certain specific Human fighting characteristics and

 abilities. That conclusion's inevitable and I no longer try to deny it."

 Comments in different tongues filled the room. "Nor does it trouble me.

 Obviously such information needs to be withheld from children and young adults

 since they are not sufficiently mature to cope with it. Whereas as an adult I

 can understand what was done and why. So what if maybe I've been physically

 enhanced in order to better serve the Purpose? I see nothing sinister in that."

 "Truly it no wonder is how confused you are," First-of-Surgery said. "You still

 do not see."

 "See what?" Ranji snapped impatiently. He'd had about enough of this nonsense.

 "That you are not an Ashregan to whom Human characteristics given have been, but

 a Human into whom Ashregan features have been engineered. We have your genome

 pattern scanned and found the alterations which will enable you to pass on these

 features to your offspring. They into your genes have been induced. The Amplitur

 the long view take.

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 "To the Amplitur you are a warrior only second, Ranji-aar, and breeding material

 first."

 Chapter Ten

  

 He waited until he was sure he was still in complete control of himself before

 responding. "If everything you claim is true, then how do you explain my

 parents? My memories, my homeworld? The Houcilat outrage?"

 "We've been doing some research, using as a starting point some of the things

 you've told us." The woman's manner was far more soothing than anything Ranji

 would ever have associated with a Human. "You and the friends you have spoken of

 are indeed the survivors of a massacre of civilians."

 "Ah," Ranji said.

 The woman continued. "There was a colony. Not Houcilat. A world whose name is

 now synonymous with mindless destruction. It was utterly obliterated a number of

 years ago by an unsupervised, unanticipated Crigolit attack. Just the right

 number of years ago, in fact, to place you and your age-group companions there

 as fetuses,

 "Whole regions were incinerated. It was the only time within modern memory that

 weapons of mass destruction have been utilized on a planetary surface. The

 Crigolit commanders who directed the attack were severely disciplined by their

 own superiors and by the Arnplitur. Based on what we have learned from you we

 have come to believe that this did not prevent the Amplitur, ever pragmatic,

 from seeing the possibilities inherent in the situation.

 "At the time it was thought that no one could have survived. The majority of

 bodies were incinerated, carbonized. An accurate count of the dead could not be

 made. Therefore it was not possible for those who came after to say whether or

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 not any children, men, women, or-" Her voice broke for the barest instant.

 "-pregnant women had been taken prisoner. Considering the unprecedented scope of

 destruction it was presumed not. Your presence vitiates a reappraisal." She

 tried to go on, couldn't, and left it to her colleague to continue.

 "You were taken by the Amplitur, not rescued," the man said curtly. "Of course

 you have no memory of it. The abductions were carried out prior to your birth."

 "Many images of the devastation are available for scholarly study." The elderly

 Massood spoke for the first time. "The world in question is there for all to

 see, a barren testimonial to war without rules."

 "My parents." Ranji was mumbling. More than his self-assurance was under assault

 now. The walls of himself were under attack, and he was frightened, terrified

 because he could feel them crumbling.

 Too much. Too much to listen to at once, to try and absorb and dissect and

 analyze. Too much to think about. Pictures and words, stories and facts.

 Invention, invention! They were trying to drive him mad.

 The woman was remorselessly gentle. "As soon as you were born you must have been

 taken from your natural mother and placed with foster Ashregan parents. The same

 would be true for your brother.'' She paused. ' 'We suspect that the much

 younger sister of whom you have spoken is the result of in vitro fertilization

 and subsequent implantation. With sufficient medical support an Ashregan womb

 will support a Human fetus. Such action would contribute to familial

 verisimilitude. The Amplitur are careful about details."

 None of it could be true, he told himself numbly. Not a word of it. Because if

 it were so then it meant that his real parents were dead, extinguished by the

 Amplitur as soon as their usefulness had come to an end. It meant that the two

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 individuals on Cossuut he had all his life called mother and father were ao more

 than Amplitur agents who had dedicated their lives to perpetuating a monstrous

 fraud on innocent children. It meant that all his hard work, everything he had

 devoted his life to preserving and fighting for, was no more than sham and

 shadow in the service of monstrous eugenics.

 "Deception." He was muttering under his breath now. "Tricks and lies. You're

 trying to convince me I'm something I'm not."

 Abruptly the eviscerating uncertainty vanished. Once again he was composed and

 relaxed. The fear that possibly they were right, that everything he was and had

 stood for all his life was a lie, simply evaporated under the cool glare of

 knowledge.

 "If I am not Ashregan but Human," he inquired triumphantly of them all but the

 two Humans in particular, ' 'how is it that I can have mind contact with the

 Amplitur without the Human neurocerebral defensive mechanism engaging? I've

 experienced this without any harm coining to either myself or the Teachers

 involved. No Human could do the same, even if they so desired."

 First-of-Surgery consulted with a cluster of O'o'yan and other Hivistahm.

 Removing a sheet from the envelope of lies, the elderly surgeon approached the

 prisoner for the second time.

 "Remember this picture?"

 Ranji glanced haughtily at the plastic. "Maybe."

 "I again call your attention to the small area in red highlighted. This a much

 deeper scan is than any of the others. It shows a tiny portion of the interior

 of the right side of your cerebral cortex."

 "If you say so," he replied indifferently. "What's this one supposed to be?

 Another graft? Another trick?''

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 The Hivistahm's teeth ground against one another as he slowly explained. "The

 red-enhanced portion the location signifies of a minute ganglionic complex. A

 nodule, a collection of nerve endings and connections. It took quite a while to

 find and was not at first noticed. Once it was identified a great deal of our

 time it occupied." The sheet rustled slightly in his fingers.

 "The Human brain no such formation contains."

 Ranji smiled. "You see? That only proves what I've been saying all along."

 The short Human scratched at an ear. "There is also no such nodule present in

 the Ashregan brain."

 Ranji involuntarily found himself eyeing the picture again. There it was: a

 fuzzy blot of indeterminate size and indistinct outline. Reason enough to

 concede one's sanity?

 First-of-Surgery handed him another picture. "Here still another view is. The

 magnification is greater."

 The blot resolved itself into a tight cluster of cells from which tiny filaments

 extended in many directions. It looked like any creature one might observe

 through a microscope.

 "And still greater magnification."

 The third picture revealed the filaments and cells in detail. No biologist, he

 was incapable of identifying any of it. Except . . .

 He pointed. "What's that?"

 First-of-Surgery forced himself to lean close. "A nanoneural weld. A place where

 nerve endings artificially joined have been." The slit-eyed, scaly reptilian

 face stared up at him.

 "Your body no code contains for such a complex. It was built and then in your

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 mind installed. As one would accessorize any rare precision instrument. It in a

 portion of your brain reposes which Human scientists have designated as unused.

 I should prefer to say hitherto dormant.

 "Research leads us to believe that this is the region of the Human mind which

 holds the key to Homo sapiens's ability to resist Amplitur mind-probes and

 suggestions. It therefore follows logically that this unique addition to your

 cerebral structure was by Amplitur nanobioengineers there ernplaced in order

 susceptible to their mental manipulation to render you. It a bridge appears to

 be. A neural bypass, if you will. As artificial and unnatural as the bony ridges

 above your ears."

 "Not only are they breeding Ashregan-looking Humans to fight for them," said the

 woman softly, "if they can get you and your friends to mate with Human captives

 or others, they can breed out of the species the neurocerebral mechanism that

 enables humankind to resist their mind-probes. That has to be their eventual

 aim."

 "First-of-Surgery told you they take the long view,'' her companion huffed.

 Ranji stared blankly at them. A psychosomatic throbbing started near the back of

 his skull, where the minuscule nodule supposedly reposed.

 "I don't believe you," he finally managed to mutter hoarsely. "If this thing is

 for real, then it's something all my people possess. All Ashregan people. You're

 trying to make me paranoid by showing me some obscure, harmless growth or faked

 imagery. Well, it won't work. You're crazy if you think I'm going to be taken in

 by something so obvious."

 "The nodule is to you unique." First-of-Surgery was quietly insistent. "It is

 real, it is not found in Humans, it is not found in Ashregan. Only you."

 "This is a wicked thing," the elderly Massood whispered. "Barbarous.

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 Uncivilized."

 "Like war itself." The short Human scanned the roomful of allies. "Mankind is

 just the only species that readily accepts the fact, is all. That's why this

 discovery only surprises but does not shock us."

 "Indubitably." The Massood's comment was a peculiar melange of distaste and

 admiration.

 "Lies, clever lies." Ranji glared defiantly at the two Humans. "They won't help

 you. Did you really think you'd be able to convince me of such a sweeping

 hypothesis on the basis of such paltry evidence? This," and he shook the plastic

 sheet violently, "is nothing!" He whirled and flung it as far as he could. It

 sailed through the air.

 In the split second that every eye in the room turned to follow the picture's

 progress Ranji was out of his seat and moving. First-of-Surgery went flying as a

 powerful forearm brushed him aside.

 With no one else standing in his way Ranji was at the door before the two guards

 could react. The larger of the two caught a brace of stiffened fingers square in

 his throat. He gagged and went down as heavily as if he'd taken a slug to the

 chest. His companion was trying to backpedal and aim his gun when the prisoner's

 spinning heel caught him across the side of the face, sending blood and teeth

 flying.

 Ranji roared up the corridor, legs and lungs functioning smoothly in tandem. If

 he could just reach the surface . . . He was counting on his specimen value to

 preserve him from destruction, betting that the order was out to shoot only to

 stun.

 Turning a comer brought him face-to-face with a single Wais. The ornithorp was

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 seated behind a high metal desk in the center of a floor inlaid with speckled

 stone. Walls of glass revealed the underground parking area he remembered from

 his arrival many months earlier. Few vehicles were in evidence. More

 importantly, the external door was open. Beyond lay blue sky, clouds, and

 fringing vegetation.

 Turning, the Wais started to speak, recognized him for who he was, and froze.

 Ranji was racing past the desk and halfway to the exit when his right leg went

 numb from the knee down.

 He kept moving, dragging the paralyzed limb, lurching desperately forward. A

 glance over his shoulder showed a pair of Humans firing as they came up the

 corridor. He ignored them and concentrated on the egress. If he could just make

 it outside he might be able to appropriate a vehicle and get clear before they

 shut the tunnel on him. The paralysis would wear off soon enough. He tried to

 will himself to limp faster, to run on one good leg; to levitate.

 Something shocked his left thigh and he fell forward onto the smooth stone

 floor. The Wais at the desk had yet to move. A pair of Hivistahm technicians

 hesitated in the doorway, staring blankly at his prone form, clicking their

 teeth at one another with soft reptilian eloquence.

 Ranji began pulling himself hand over hand, struggling to get a purchase with

 his fingers on the slick tiles. Out of the corner of an eye a pair of legs

 appeared, effortlessly paralleling him. Turning to look up, he recognized the

 guard he'd jabbed in the throat. The man's expression as he drew back his leg

 was more than simply hostile.

 Despite the throbbing in his legs Ranji smiled up at him. "You see, I would

 never contemplate doing what you're about to do, but that's because I'm not

 anything like you. I may be a soldier, but I'm also civilized Ashregan. Whereas

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 you are only Human."

 The guard hesitated, then slowly let his foot drop to the floor. He stood close,

 keeping the rifle he carried pointed at the back of the prisoner's skull.

 Muttering nervously to themselves, the pair of confronted Hivistahm entered in

 haste, scurrying across the floor to disappear down another corridor.

 A resigned sigh escaped Ranji as he gazed longingly at the vacant portal.

 "Almost made it. I should have hit you harder."

 The guard rubbed his neck. "Wouldn't have mattered. They would've caught you

 before you'd gone far." He glanced back the way he'd come. Other guards were

 moving to seal the exit and block off the far corridor. Shaky but now mobile,

 the Wais was frantically filling her headset unit with declamations in several

 languages.

 Some of the scientists and research specialists from the conference room had

 arrived. Bunched up behind the guards, they were murmuring and pointing in

 Ranji's direction, worried lest their precious specimen suffer further damage.

 "You know," the burly Human standing over Ranji informed him conversationally,

 "I want to kick you really bad. A good, hard, uncivilized shot right to the

 kidneys. Assuming you've got kidneys. If the brainoids are right, yours are just

 like mine. Waited too long, though. Too many witnesses now.''

 Ranji pushed himself into a seated position, leaning back on his palms. He

 regarded the Human as one would a particularly nasty carnivore recently

 collected from a hostile, uninhabited world.

 "Nothing about me is anything like you."

 The man looked indifferent. "Doesn't matter. If a Human had hit me like that I'd

 want to smack him just as badly."

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 "Contemplation of violence against your own kind. What an astonishing racial

 conceit."

 "Yeah, ain't it? That's why our Weave brothers love us so much." As one of the

 other guards approached, the man passed him his rifle and stepped behind Ranji.

 Slipping both arms underneath the prisoner's, the guard heaved him to his feet.

 A sensation as of stabbing needles tormented outraged muscles as the Human

 forcibly walked Ranji in circles to rush feeling back into his legs.

 "I hope they decide you are Human."

 "Why?" Ranji's grunts of discomfort elicited no sympathy from the man.

 "Because then maybe we'll have the chance to meet up with each other another

 day, when you won't have whining rats and lizards to protect you."

 Able to stand on his own now, Ranji shook himself free of the other's grasp. "I

 look forward to it," he replied placidly.

 As the guard recovered his weapon he responded to the challenge with an utterly

 heinous, completely lurid Human response: he grinned.

 Heida Trondheim was among those who now crowded the hallway. Ranji gazed

 thoughtfully in her direction as the guard nudged his spine with a rifle butt.

 "I'd love to spend some time alone with you, friend, but your keepers are

 getting anxious. Let's move it. And if you try anything again, if you so much as

 look funny in rny direction, I'll stun you right where it hurts. Assuming our

 equipment is similar in that respect as well."

 Surrounded by wary, armed Humans and Massood, Ranji was marched back to the room

 from which he'd taken brief but exhilarating flight. This time they were careful

 to shut the door behind him.

 Once back inside Trondheim came close. "It's all right. I don't blame you.

 You've been severely traumatized." She tried to put her hand on his shoulder but

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 he shook her off. Hurt, she resumed her seat.

 Once again he found himself surrounded by a roomful of curious gazes. "Go ahead.

 Show me all the pictures you want. Though if your intent is to amuse me there

 are simpler ways. But don't think you can ever convince me that I'm something

 I'm not."

 The tall woman was shaking her head slowly. "You're Human. Like it or not, the

 evidence is overwhelming. If anything, that little outburst of yours just now

 confirms it. No Ashregan, no matter how altered or enhanced, could've gotten

 that far."

 "Truly he is right." Attention shifted to First-of-Surgery. The elderly

 Hivistahm appeared to have handled the unpleasant episode well. "I do not think

 we will with words and pictures convince you," he told Ranji. "Your conditioning

 too ingrained is, too much a part of you. We will have to something more do."

 "Go ahead," Ranji taunted him. "It won't make any difference."

 Double eyelids blinked over snakelike pupils. "Truly I beg to differ.''

 Chapter Eleven

  

 He never knew how or when they slipped him the anesthetic. It might have arrived

 in his drink, or his food, or the air of his apartment. When he sensed the

 impending clutch of lugubrious drowsiness he tried to fight back, screaming

 imprecations and pounding the walls in a futile attempt to stay awake.

 As awareness faded he found himself wondering why they suddenly felt the need to

 render him unconscious. Perhaps they planned to move him to another installation

 and, mindful of his recent outburst, were taking no chances. Considering his

 state of mind and demonstrated capabilities, he wouldn't have taken any chances

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 when moving him either.

 He appreciated the fact that oblivion came painlessly, but then Omaphil was a

 civilized place. He wondered how he would've been treated on the Human homework!

 That disagreeable thought was the last he recalled before sliding into a sleep

 of abyssal dimensions.

  

 A great many individuals were gathered around view-screens scattered throughout

 the installation and elsewhere on Omaphil. The Surgery itself was uncrowded.

 First-of-Surgery was among those present, not to perform but to advise and

 observe. He had been teaching for so long that he no longer felt in possession

 of the necessary skills required to supervise the delicate operation. But he had

 been associated with the study from the beginning and realized that his presence

 would be a comfort to the others.

 Another First-of-Surgery would handle the actual mechanics in conjunction with a

 highly experienced O'o'yan. Together they represented the zenith of Weave

 medical accomplishment.

 Save for a single exception, interested Humans were excluded from the Surgery

 itself. While it was to be performed on a Human brain, no Human physician could

 have hoped to duplicate the sureness of movement and delicacy of touch possessed

 by Hivistahm or O'o'yan. They could only watch and envy.

 Though everyone involved exuded confidence and expectation, an undercurrent of

 unease still permeated the proceedings. While the procedure had been thoroughly

 discussed and mapped out in advance, everyone realized they were entering

 unknown territory. Weave study of Homo sapiens had resulted in more than one

 surprise, not least to its own kind, and while expectations could be formulated,

 where the Human nervous system was involved nothing was absolute, nothing was

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 certain.

 In addition to the Hivistahm-O'o'yan staff there were two Humans in the Surgery:

 the man on the operating pallet, and a huge coppery-skinned male whose fine

 long-fingered hands seemed to have been lifted from a different body. Despite

 possessing skills which rendered him supreme among his people, he was present

 only to observe and advise. Hands which had worked on hundreds of his own kind

 would not go near this particular patient, would not in the event of emergency

 manipulate the microsur-gical instrumentation. That would be left to aliens

 possessed of a touch finer than that of the greatest Human surgeons who had ever

 lived.

 A thin sheet of softly opaque, nonreflective material covered Ranji-arr from the

 neck down. His forehead gleamed beneath the superb overhead lighting. Due to the

 nature of the tools which were to be used it had not been necessary to shave his

 skull. Invisible air clamps locked his head in place, allowing access by hands

 and equipment but no involuntary movement.

 The attending physicians had already performed the operation many times on a

 virtual-reality simulator. Still, actual reality was different. If you made a

 mistake, there was no Reset button to push. In actual reality, patients died. So

 the surgical team was confident, but not certain.

 The single Human towered over the roomful of Hivistahm and O'o'yan technicians,

 looking clumsy and out of place. His presence was something of a concession, and

 he knew it. Privately he had assured the two surgeons in charge that he would do

 his best to stay out of their way.

 "As we begin," the Human said through his translator, "I have to remind everyone

 both present and looking on that we don't know what the result of our efforts

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 will be. We may as readily kill as cure the subject. As those of you who have

 been following developments already know, scanning has detected at least one

 cluster of contained explosively carcinogenic cells implanted within the nodule.

 Any attempt to remove it would likely release these cells within the brain in a

 region where any hasty attempt at counteraction or emergency prophylaxis would

 be at least as damaging to the patient as the cells themselves. A carcinogenic

 time bomb, if you will.

 "If this mechanism were located elsewhere in the body, we might be able to deal

 with it, but because it is buried deep within the cerebral cortex we cannot take

 the chance. Therefore it has been decided to leave the nodule in place and

 untouched while severing the neural connections between it and the rest of the

 patient's nervous system with nonintrusive instrumentation. The aim is to render

 the growth harmless without removing or traumatizing it."

 "Truly this a delicate procedure is," said First-of-Surgery senior, continuing

 the explanation for the benefit of onlookers. "As is any manipulation of the

 interior of the brain." He turned to the table. "My colleague will now begin."

 The other First-of-Surgery fingered sensitive controls. The operational details

 had been programmed into the relevant instrumentation earlier, movements and

 reactions having been gathered from numerous operations carried out in virtual

 reality. The surgical computer would automatically compensate for any minute

 differences it detected between its programming and actual reality. Having

 installed the requisite programming and instructions, the surgeons' presence was

 required only in case something went wrong. Should it encounter anything

 unexpected in the course of the surgery, the master computer would pause the

 operation and ask for new instructions.

 A small metal dish lowered on a gleaming automatic arm until it stopped a few

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 centimeters above Ranji's skull. Medical scanners were active on both sides.

 Several small needlelike instruments projected downward from the dish.

 "If we missed any neurological booby traps similar to the one we found earlier,

 we're likely to lose him," the tall Human muttered to no one in particular.

 First-of-Surgery senior looked on intently as the sonic scalpel hummed softly

 for a split second. One needle shifted its position infinitesimally on the

 surface of the dish. Each time the needle moved and hummed a single neuron

 within Ranji's brain was severed.

 "All that can be done has been done. Scanning was rescanned, computer-enhanced,

 and scanned afresh. No other 'traps' were found."

 "Amplitur nanobioengineering is infernally subtle."

 "Truly. But science it only is, not magic." A click of sharp teeth emphasized

 the point.

 Monitors scattered throughout the Surgery displayed rock-steady images of the

 operation as it progressed. They could clearly see the ganglionic complex, the

 flow of blood through a nearby cerebral capillary, the neurons which connected

 the nodule to the rest of the patient's brain. One by one they were neatly

 severed with impossibly brief, precisely applied bursts of high-frequency sound,

 progressively isolating the nodule with the intent of rendering it as harmless

 as a benign tumor.

 "I've heard," the tall Human murmured as his attention shifted from monitor to

 subject and back again, "that there are some on the staff who wouldn't be

 particularly distressed if during the course of the operation this patient

 happened to die. This Ranji-aars no monster. He's a normal Human who had his

 birthright stolen from him before he was born."

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 "I have his genome map seen. You do not me need to convince," replied

 First-of-Surgery.

 "Sorry." To his surprise the man found he had bitten his lower lip. He'd never

 done that before, but then this was no ordinary surgery. There was more than one

 life at stake here. All of the subject's friends were also potential candidates

 for cutting. Though if they failed to restore this first one . . .

 He knew that if he lived to be two hundred he could never hope to match the

 supernal precision of the medical computer or the programming skill of the

 Hivistahm, but something within him still made his fingers twitch slightly, as

 if he and not binary impulses were manipulating the instruments.

 First-of-Surgery interrupted his thoughts. "I know of those of whom you speak.

 They believe that this individual and all like it should on sight be killed.

 They the interbreeding and contamination fear which could to Amplitur

 subjugation of the Human species lead.

 "They do not individual salvations consider. As physicians we differently

 think."

 Not to mention how much you can learn from him so long as he lives, the Human

 surgeon mused. Though he could not condemn the Hivistahm. Not when he felt the

 same way.

 Except for the barely audible, methodical sparking of the scalpel and the click

 of other instruments the Surgery was as quiet as a tomb. Above the patient

 nothing moved save the scalpel's angustipunctal needle.

 Only when the gleaming dish rose and withdrew, its programming completed, was

 the air filled with general conversation in several tongues and the febrile hum

 of busy translators. The scanners showed the nodule clearly, isolated and no

 longer connected to the rest of the patient's brain. Even so, it was far too

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 soon for shouts and hisses of triumph. Apparent success required medical

 confirmation.

 The attending physicians crowded around the various technical stations,

 anxiously scanning readouts and eyeing monitors. The patient's cerebrum did not

 explode. No armies of ravening cells were released from the nodule to destroy

 his brain. Circulation, respiration, wave functions, and all relevant vital

 signs read normal. There was no internal bleeding. First-of-Surgery allowed

 himself to gnash his teeth hopefully.

 To the Human physician hardly any time seemed to have elapsed since actual

 surgery had commenced. He left the monitor he'd been studying to rejoin

 First-of-Surgery.

 "That should do it. When he wakes up he won't be any different from before,

 except that for the rest of his life he'll carry a minuscule knot of useless

 cells around in his brain, and any Amplitur that tries to give him 'suggestions'

 will be in for a big surprise. Assuming that the operation has restored his

 nervous system's natural defensive mechanism, of course."

 "It enough is that he can no longer be subject to their mental whims," said

 First-of-Surgery decisively. "That the principal intent of the operation was. If

 the Human defense also restored is, that is a bonus to him." First-of-Surgery

 looked thoughtful. "I also believe the knowledge can and should from the general

 Weave population be withheld."

 Conversing in low tones, the two physicians left the Surgery, together with the

 rest of the staff which had supervised the sensitive operation. Their patient

 remained behind. A second surgical team had entered and was busying itself with

 checkouts of fresh programming and different instrumentation.

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 The sonic scalpel had withdrawn into the ceiling. Its position above the

 recumbent form was now taken by different instruments riding on slightly larger

 supportive arms. While the nature of the initial procedure had been far more

 sensitive, the second was to prove messier, for the newly arrived team planned

 to remove the excess bone from the patient's cheeks, rebuild his ears, shorten

 his fingers, and restore additional bone around his unnaturally wide occipital

 orbits.

 It was their intention to render the patient as Human externally as the first

 team had made him within.

 It did not matter that there were no Humans among them. Hivistahm and O'o'yan

 physicians knew the physiology of Homo sapiens inside and out, having spent much

 of their careers repairing injured Human soldiers. Artists as much as surgeons,

 they were completely confident that when the protective wraps were finally

 removed the patient would resemble anything but a member of a hostile species.

 The Human surgeon who'd been present would have preferred to have remained to

 see that day, but knew how unlikely it was. His presence was required in combat.

 Few Humans chose anymore to enter professions at which other species excelled.

 This made the value of those who did so that much greater. The surgeon

 understood the situation completely. It was both simpler and more gratifying to

 specialize in what a Human did best.

 Killing.

 Chapter Twelve

  

 Funny thing about mirrors. Like individual thoughts, they can't be avoided

 forever. After some time had passed, Heida Trondheim came to see him. She

 talked, and he listened. There was an exchange of inconsequentialities

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 punctuated by long silences. Then she left.

 Ranji's next visitor was a lanky Human male, slightly shorter, slightly older

 than himself, a little lighter in color. Not a mirror image, but close.

 That's when Ranji allowed himself to cry, not much caring whether they happened

 to be Human or Ashregan tears. It was a strain on his surgically altered eyes,

 but he ignored the discomfort. The young man, puzzled, returned the room to

 Trondheim.

 Ranji still had to use a translator to talk to her. He might look Human, might

 be Human, but his speech remained that of another species. She was very patient

 with him.

 "Appearances," he mumbled. "Just appearances. Why?"

 "Because you should look like what you are," she replied straightforwardly.

 He tilted his head back to stare at the recovery-room ceiling. "I admit that

 visually the change is striking, but that doesn't mean I accept it

 intellectually."

 "You've been more thoroughly analyzed and appraised than any single Human being

 in recent history. While Humans and Ashregan look a lot alike, subtle chemical

 and physical differences remain. The Amplitur missed some of           those.

 They didn't alter everything. You're definitely Human. As Human as I am."

 He looked back at her. "Why doesn't that possibility mime with glee?"

 Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the single door.

 First-of-Surgery entered, resplendent in dress vest and shorts. Even for one so

 cosmopolitan it took an effort of will to enter a room occupied solely by

 Humans, but he concealed his unease gracefully.

 Ranji was shown reams of charts and figures (which could have been faked) and

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 dozens of three-dimensional pictures (likewise fakable). The senior Hivistahm

 was very persuasive, but not completely convincing. Numbers and words were

 feeble levers with which to try and topple a person's entire life. The brief

 visit of the young Human who had so closely resembled him had carried more

 weight than all their statistics.

 Though unprepared to acquiesce, he confessed a willingness to contemplate

 possibilities. First-of-Surgery considered it a victory.

 "My head hurts," Ranji muttered.

 Three claws on the Hivistahm's right hand snicked together. "As well it might,

 considering the quantity of excess bone that has from both sides of your skull

 been removed. A portion was used your occipital orbits to restore to normal

 Human diameter. For the same reason your appropriately shortened fingers will

 ache for a while. The discomfort will pass."

 The disconsolate patient fingered the thin bedsheet. "Why bother? Why go to the

 trouble?"

 "So that you'll be comfortable among your own kind," Trondheim told him. He

 looked over at her.

 "My kind? Which 'kind' is that? You?"

 She didn't look away. "Yes. Me. It helps to explain ... certain things."

 "There more is." First-of-Surgery found a suitable seat. "The ganglionic complex

 the Amplitur emplaced in your cerebrum remains, but all neural connections

 between it           and the rest of your brain severed have been. It can

 affect you no longer."

 "I see," he said quietly. "This means that the Teachers can no longer

 communicate directly with me?''

 "That is so. We hopeful are also that the operation has restored your Human

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 mind's ability to against uninvited mental probes defend itself. You from now on

 against that enemy should secure be."

 Against the enemy? Who was the enemy and who ally? he thought tiredly. It was

 too much for a simple soldier's mind to grasp. Soldier ... for whom, and whom

 against?

 Vast resources had been brought to bear to convince him of his Humanity. Did he

 continue to resist them from reason ... or stubbornness and fear? Had something

 vital been taken from him ... or restored? How would he know? How could he find

 out?

 Confrontation with a Teacher would answer all his questions, but somehow he

 doubted any were to be found on Omaphil. Therefore he would have to arrive at

 conclusions by other means. Of one thing he was certain.

 If everything they 'd shown and told him was true, if he was Human and not

 Ashregan, then his whole life up to this point had been nothing more than an

 elaborate lie.

 How much did they know, his parents? Mother and father whom he'd respected and

 honored from the day he'd learned how to speak. Were they no more than innocent

 recipients of irresistible Amplitur "suggestions"? Or was the nature of their

 participation more elaborate, more sinister?

 He blinked, conscious of warm pressure on his forearm where Trondheim gripped

 him gently. "Are you all right, Ranji?" Even his own name sounded unnatural, he

 thought. She did not have the right accent.

 First-of-Surgery had risen anxiously to stand behind his chair. "You are not

 again violent going to become, are you?" -

 "No. I'm too tired to be violent, even were I so inclined." Keeping a wary eye

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 on his patient, the surgeon resumed his seat. Ranji directed his words to

 Trondheim. "While I've been listening to everything you've been telling me I've

 also been remembering my childhood.''

 "Your Ashregan parents,'' she murmured sympathetically. He gestured, then

 hesitantly added the Human equivalent; a terse nod of affirmation. The movement

 felt not unnatural.

 "Tools of the Ashregan, willingly or otherwise." First-of-Surgery was

 unrelenting.

 Despite his promise Ranji experienced a sudden urge to smash the surgeon's

 toothy snout down his throat. A perfectly natural reaction, he told himself. For

 a Human. The harder his mind tried to convince him that they'd been telling him

 nothing but lies, the more his body and emotions argued otherwise.

 Trondheim was talking. "It'll be okay. Everything'll be all right."

 "Will it really?" He wondered if the translator was conveying something of his

 fear and uncertainty along with his words. "I've been Ashregan all my life. Now

 you ask me on the basis of images and figures to suddenly be Human. No matter

 what happens I'll always be Ashregan."

 Surprisingly, she smiled. "You act more Human than you know, Ranji-aar."

  

 "I say that this thing you cannot do! Unscientific it is. Against accepted

 procedure it is. Truly forthrightly dangerous it is!"

 "Dangerous to whom?" The gray-furred Massood towered over the Hivistahm. Though

 he wore the uniform of a full field commander, his recent duties had been

 largely administrative in nature.

 The uncommon insignia of the S'van who waited patiently nearby identified him as

 a scientific advisor to the military with attendant special privileges and

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 qualifications. The Hivistahm found the combination inherently contradictory.

 First-of-Surgery knew he could not, for example, have sanely combined soldiering

 and medicine.

 The three sentients stood on a long wide porch that clung like an attenuated

 bird's nest to the sheer cliff of black basalt. The dawn did its best to

 mitigate against unpleasant discussion. It was near the end of the second of

 Omaphil's two springtimes, an uncommon seasonal arrangement that was the result

 of orbital peculiarities. High forest grew right to the base of the cliff,

 succumbing only in the distance to cultivated fields. On the horizon sunlight

 diverted by the towers of Oumansa sought oblivion in yellow gleamings.

 A storm was massing behind the distant city, silhouetting it in black weather.

 Hard to believe, the S'van thought, that on a day like this the civilized

 inhabitants of Oumansa were a people at war. As were his companions of this

 bright morning, and all their relations. Out beyond the crisp, unpolluted

 atmosphere of Omaphil, ships and sentients wheeled and maneuvered for strategic

 advantage, seeking opportunities to capture and destroy. The S'van tried to work

 it all into a joke, but just then there was little humor in him.

 A handsbreadth from a sheer dropoff an empty table awaited them. An automated

 server brought refreshments.

 "Your opinion will be noted but it will not change anything." The field

 commander sipped from his peculiar drinking utensil. The Massood were noted for

 their dedication to the cause and for their fighting abilities. Masters of tact

 they were not. The S'van hastened to intervene, disdaining the use of his

 translator in favor of fluent Hivistahm. He could speak Massood as well.

 "I'm sorry, First-of, but the commander is right. The decision has already been

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 made, at Military Council level. Even if we wanted to, there's nothing we can do

 about it."

 "This is not a decision for the Military Council to make." The surgeon was

 livid, which in a Hivistahm generated interesting color changes in the scales

 which covered the head. Teeth clicking in agitation, he settled into           

 one of the self-adjusting chairs. Among his people brooding had been raised to

 the level of fine art.

 Deep within the wiry mass of black beard the S Van's lips worked soothingly. '

 'I realize that your staff here still has preliminary studies they would like to

 complete."

 "Complete? Preliminary?" The Hivistahm ignored his drink. "We barely begun have.

 Conceive of it! A Human child raised as an Ashregan. To like an Ashregan think,

 talk, believe, but to like a Human fight. We have his Hu-manness restored."

 "But not his Humanity," the Massood interjected.

 "That will in time come to him. All the more reason here to keep him, so that

 help we can provide as well as study."

 "Personally, I agree with you." The S'van sampled his drink.

 "Then why is it not so ordered?" The Hivistahm eyed the splendiferous sunrise

 morosely. "Why this precipitous decision?''

 The Massood put down his drinking utensil. "Admittedly it is something of a

 gamble. But it is one that the Council feels it must take."

 "He is not properly to his new condition acclimated," the surgeon grumbled. "As

 you say, he has not yet had his Humanity restored. We cannot his mind rebuild as

 we have his body. Yet you wish us via prostheses to temporarily back his

 Ashregan appearance give him." Claws clicked against claws.

 "If this thing the Council proposes in its finite wisdom fails, we lose not only

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 this individual but the unique opportunity he presents."

 The field commander sipped delicately. Working and living alongside Wais and Mo

 tar, he had learned manners. "I remind you that the subject's wishes must also

 be taken into consideration, and that he energetically supports the proposal."

 "I am to the subject as sympathetic as any,'' huffed the Hivistahm, "but we must

 think first of the good of the Weave.''

 "As do my superiors. The fact that the Council's desires happen to coincide with

 those of the individual weaken your position considerably." The Massood leaned

 forward.

 "As you know, this Ranji-aar is apparently but one of many like him who were in

 prebirth corrupted and co-opted by the Amplitur. That he wishes to return to his

 people and reveal the heinous deception to his friends and fellow fighters in

 order to foment rebellion among them is considered by the Council an enterprise

 of sufficient worth to make the risk worth taking."

 ulf that is truly what he has in mind," said the surgeon.

 "Truth is always the first casualty of war." The Massood waxed uncommonly

 philosophical, and his companions eyed him in surprise. "I have seen the

 xenopsychs' analysis. At this point in time our Ranji-aar trusts no one,

 including himself. Therefore he must be allowed to find truth, along with

 himself. Otherwise he will be useless to us as well as himself. As you say,

 physician, his problems cannot be cured by surgery. He must convince himself of

 what he is.

 "If he can also do that for his friends, then the Amplitur will lose not only

 the fruits of their experiment but the most effective single fighting force they

 have yet developed. The Weave will benefit in the short as well as the long

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 term.''

 First-of-Surgery closed both sets of eyelids against the intensifying light. '

 'Unless the return to familiar surroundings his Ashregan conditioning

 reinforces. If that happens then he is to us lost forever. Truly."

 The S'van clicked his short flat teeth in imitation of the Hivistahm. As was

 often the case with the subtle S'van, the surgeon was unable to tell if the

 burlesque was performed out of respect or amusement.

 "That's the risk. Of course, unless the reports I've been seeing are wrong,

 there seems to be risk of another kind in keeping him here."

 "No, no." First-of-Surgery sounded tired. "Accurate they have been. Suicide he

 has threatened unless he is to his people permitted to return. If sufficiently

 determined he was, we could not prevent it. Most frustrating truly. As an

 Ashregan he would not do such a thing, which would mean we could for observation

 retain him. But that failure would signify. It seems that for him Human to be

 means success for our efforts, but that we lose him. Ironic it is."

 It was the S'van's turn to philosophize. "Life consists of choosing between

 successive contradictions, surgeon."

 "So I suppose we must let him go. But I fear to. Upon my Circle I do."

 "You've done great things here, First-of. But in times of conflict pure research

 must give way to practical concerns." This time there was no suggestion of humor

 in the S'van's tone.

 "Truly that I realize." The Hivistahm sucked at his drink. "But that does not

 mean I have to like it."

 "The Human psychologists who have been consulted in the matter agree that to

 hold him against his will is dangerous," said the field commander.

 "Human psychologists?" The surgeon sniffed. "That a contradiction in terms is.

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 With Weave guidance they have barely begun to learn how their own bizarre

 behavior to quantify. Seek not enlightenment from them." As no Humans were

 present the surgeon felt he could speak freely.

 An upper lip drew back and the field commander picked politely at his teeth.

 Nose and whiskers twitched reflexively. "Well, if it is a ploy on his part we

 will know soon enough. If not, then we may achieve a great deal. Even if he is

 eventually discovered and killed, he will hopefully have had enough time to sow

 some confusion among his fellow fighters."

 "I still a bad idea think it, and will so my opinion officially register,"

 muttered the surgeon.

 "That's your privilege." The S'van smiled, aware as he did so that neither of

 his companions could discern it through the forest of a beard.

 They were still arguing when evening commenced to darken the cliff face.

 The battered uniform he'd been wearing when the lone Hivistahm and Lepar had

 surprised him on Eirrosad had been carefully preserved in its original state.

 Muddy and torn, it was returned to him in an airtight transparent container.

 The prostheses which restored his Ashregan appearance clung uncomfortably to his

 skull and fingers. To once more look in a mirror and see himself as he'd always

 been was unsettling, though the attending medical personnel assured him he was

 coping well. Head, eyes, ears, nose, and fingers looked natural enough. Unless a

 scarce variety of organic solvent was applied at specific locations, the

 prostheses could not be removed without damage to the underlying bone. On that

 score, they assured him, he need not worry. Though they did not possess the

 skills of the Amplitur, the Hivistahm and O'o'yan surgeons were in their own

 right extremely competent. Ranji felt that the deception would pass.

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 He was instructed to say nothing to the Weave military personnel who transported

 him back to Eirrosad nor to the bemused strike team which had been charged with

 conveying him as close as possible to the spot where he'd originally been

 captured.

 Occasionally a Human or Massood would look up from its position on board the

 sled to favor the enigma in their midst with a bemused stare. The single

 passenger would in turn ignore them, sunk deep in contemplation as he gazed

 intently at the treetops slipping past below.

 His noncommunicativeness made the Human soldiers nervous and the Massood

 twitchier than usual. If their passenger was, as rumored, one of the dangerously

 modified Ashregan warriors of whom they had heard, why were they returning him

 alive to a contested zone? Visions of accidental homicide visited many thoughts,

 but weapons stayed in their holsters. The carefully chosen mixed-species strike

 team was nothing if not highly disciplined.

 So he intercepted no misguided shots as they lowered him to the soggy ground,

 reeled in their cable and confusion, and pivoted to retreat westward before the

 sled could be detected and targeted by an enemy missile.

 As he had seemingly so long ago, Ranji once again found himself alone among

 towering unfamiliar growths. Somewhere high in the canopy an arboreal creature

 peeped querulously, wondering if it was once more safe to emerge from its hiding

 place. Water dripping from broad spatulate leaves dampened him with elfin

 reminders of the morning's shower.

 They had dropped him in a pleasant, peaceful, relatively dry spot. A good place

 to relax and think, except that he'd already done too much thinking recently.

 Better to concentrate on the arduous trek ahead instead of wasting energy on

 difficult questions he had no answers to. If he lingered, he might encounter an

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 uninformed Weave patrol. It would be embarrassing to be captured all over again.

 Orienting himself, he started off in an easterly direction.

 The Eirrosadian fauna caused him more concern than unseen trigger-happy

 Massood/Human scouts. Once, something sinuous that crawled on eight short legs

 struck at him, aiming curving fangs at his knees. They ripped his pants but did

 not penetrate the flesh beneath. He flayed the repulsive creature with the beam

 of his pistol, and it curled and died.

 Over fallen trees, through rotting clumps of wood, around impenetrable clusters

 of vine-strangled bushes he climbed and waded, until an explosive shell made

 smoke, ash, and decomposing rubble of the top of a broken snag off to his right.

 Throwing himself prone, he landed in spongy muck near a smaller stump, straining

 to see where the fire had come from. Another shell whined through the space

 previously occupied by his head, shattering the trunk of a waist-thick bole

 behind him and sending it crashing to earth in a sonorous confusion of lianas

 and branches.

 Scrambling to his knees, he dashed to his left, pistol at the ready. That's when

 the voice ordered him to halt, drop his weapon, put his hands atop his head, and

 turn. He hesitated momentarily, then complied. Whoever his attackers were, they

 had him outgunned.

 Hopefully they weren't the panicky type. He could hear them chatting tensely

 among themselves as they approached, could sense the muzzles of their weapons

 aimed at his spine. Only when they were quite close did he turn slowly to reveal

 his face.

 When they recognized him as one of their own, their astonishment was something

 to behold. Startled realization quickly gave way to relief, then amazement as he

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 identified himself.

 "Your death has been an accepted fact for some time, honored Unifer." The

 soldier hastened to recover Ranji's gun and return it to him. Another offered a

 food packet. It contained traditionally bland, thoroughly pureed Ashregan food,

 not the coarse, tough stuff Humans consumed. He dug into it gratefully, not even

 waiting for it to heat.

 Another member of the trio scanned the woods alertly. "This whole sector is

 crawling with enemy slider patrols. They are constantly probing our forward

 lines. Occasionally some try to sneak through on the ground; such ground as

 there is on this miserable planet.''

 "I saw sliders, and our own floaters," Ranji lied. "It's difficult for anyone

 riding above to see down into the canopy."

 The third soldier agreed readily. "It's no wonder you weren't spotted, Unifer.

 I'm only glad that we found you before the enemy. I am sorry we shot at you, but

 you must understand we didn't expect to encounter anything in this area but

 Massood and Humans. You have been some time unaccounted for." Ranji tensed

 slightly until he realized that the soldier's tone was devoid of suspicion.

 The one watching the forest spoke up. "Your special unit has been pulled back

 and reassigned to operations elsewhere, Unifer." Convinced of their safety, he

 turned to gaze at the young officer. "How is it you've spent all this time

 wandering about in this patch of jungle?''

 "Lost my direction finder." Ranji grunted. "Lost about everything. Got hurt and

 had to hide from enemy patrols. Took time to find food, build temporary shelters

 . . .I've been too busy just staying alive to try working my way back." He

 gestured appreciatively. "I knew that if I could just keep calm and stay clear

 of the enemy, my own people would rescue me eventually. I am sure there will be

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 commendations in this for all of you."

 That observation distracted the questioner sufficiently to interrupt what

 threatened to become an ominous line of thought.

 "Spent a lot of time in the hollow of a tree," he continued inventively, seeing

 how enthralled they were with his tale of survival. "Kept me hidden and dry, but

 impossible to spot from the air by friend or enemy. I needed time for my leg to

 heal. Hurt my face and hands, too," he added in a sudden flash of inspiration.

 They all touched the backs of their right hand to Ms. "It is good to find you

 alive, Unifer."

 He could feel his indoctrination, his recently acquired Humanity, beginning to

 crumble in the presence of Ash-regan compassion. Weren't these his people?

 Hadn't he spent his whole life among them? What was the difference between

 Ashregan and Homo sapiens anyway? A few genes, some slight differences in

 stature and appearance. It was good to again be speaking in a familiar tongue,

 to be eating the food of his childhood, to slip easily into the casual byplay of

 words and gestures he'd known all his life. He'd prepared himself to cope with

 familiarity, but not with warmth and affection. It weakened and unsettled him.

 Not unnaturally, his alarmed rescuers assumed his reactions were the result of

 his extended sojourn in the jungle. They hastened to help him back to friendly

 lines.

 His nervousness faded rapidly. Everyone was overjoyed to see him. No one voiced

 suspicion or incertitude. His tale of injury and survival was accepted verbatim,

 in part because there was no reason to doubt him, in part because they wanted to

 believe it. When there is a need for heroes and they are so inconsiderate as not

 to invent themselves, others take up the task for them.

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 No one questioned his appearance or physical condition. Insofar as they were

 concerned it was a miracle he'd been found alive in any condition. When pressed

 for details of his experience, he relaxed and allowed his fecund imagination to

 take over.

 When finally he was reunited with his own unit, the response was overwhelming

 and utterly accepting. If he had told them he'd spent the previous weeks on

 Eirrosad's major satellite collecting mineral samples they would have believed

 him implicitly. He received so many backhanded slaps he feared for the integrity

 of his prostheses.

 "Such a long time!" The naked adoration in strong Birachii's eyes forced Ranji

 to turn away in embarrassment. "Notice of your death was posted officially over

 two months ago."

 "It was premature," was all he could murmur.

 They were walking the grounds of a forward firebase, concealed in the eternal

 jungle some distance from where Ranji had been found. It seemed that everyone

 recognized him and waved or shouted in passing, regular Ashregan and insectoid

 Crigolit troops as well as familiar members of his own unit. He forced himself

 to acknowledge each undeserved accolade, acutely conscious of how his miraculous

 return had lifted their morale.

 It was hard to keep from staring at his friends, knowing what he knew now about

 their birthright. Appearances, which hitherto he had paid little attention to,

 now aroused in him an almost morbid fascination. Cranial ridges that did not

 belong, eyes that now seemed unnaturally wide, fingers lengthened by the

 presence of extraneous bone, unusually flattened nostrils, and the absence of

 external ears all struck him as both alien and familiar. There was within him

 taking place a crisis of perception.

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 His reactions were noticed, and sympathetically attributed to the understandable

 aftereffects of his exhausting experience.

 The more time he spent among old friends and familiar surroundings, the darker

 grew the shadow of doubt that had once more begun to shade his thoughts. Was

 what he had seen and learned beyond doubt? Had every question been adequately

 answered? That he was being manipulated he knew for a certainty. But by whom? By

 which side? By the Amplitur, by the Weave ... by both?

 What was he, who was he, and where did his loyalty rationally lie? With

 appearances, with genes, or with friends? He had been exposed to and had been

 asked to accept in a very short period of time multiple revelations of

 mind-shattering import. This he had done. Or so he had believed. At the time.

 It was easier to live the days in languid succession, to simply exist, to be,

 and not constantly torment oneself pondering the greater mysteries of existence.

 One thing he could not escape, however. One thing there was always before his

 eyes. No matter how he tried to avoid it, he could never again escape the

 realization that his friends looked far more like Humans onto whom a few

 Ashregan features had been grafted than the other way around.

 When they inquired, as he knew they would, as to how he had survived for so long

 without supplies, he told stories of gathering edible fruits and nuts, of

 killing and eating small animals, of gathering rainwater in cupped leaves. He'd

 done everything they'd been told to do in survival training, and this had

 preserved him. They listened raptly, their appetite for his memories insatiable.

 Had he in the course of his odyssey encountered any of the enemy? Several, he

 admitted. No, not Massood or Humans. Hivistahm and Lepar. Yes, their presence in

 a combat zone had surprised him. More than they could know. He had dealt with

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 them as circumstances required.

 It was during one such gathering that swift, pretty Cossinza-iiv came forward

 apologetically. "I have something important to tell you, Ranji." The others

 tried to shush her. "I'm sorry, but I can't keep it a secret any longer."

 "Keep what a secret?" Ranji asked guardedly.

 "Did you know that the big advance base to our immediate rear is tomorrow to

 receive the newest batch of special fighters from Cossuut?"

 Ranji was openly surprised. "This is the first I've heard of it."

 New recruits from home. New graduates. Had that much time passed since his only

 concern in life had been to do well in the Maze?

 "When they're cleared to join us it will more than double our strength. The next

 time Command gives us a special assignment we'll be able to hit the enemy a lot

 harder than we have here or on Koba."

 "That's great." Ranji mustered a minimum of enthusiasm. "That's the secret?"

 "No." Cossinza was smiling. So were some of those behind her. "Your brother's

 with them. They jumped him a level."

 Distantly Ranji heard himself expressing his pleasure at the news. So Saguio was

 here, on Eirrosad. Wonderful. Thus far he'd managed to beguile other Ashregan,

 Crigolit, even close childhood friends. But could he fool his own brother?

 That Saguio was Ms brother was something Ranji did not doubt. They shared

 similar height and strength, the same desire and skills. Ranji was a little

 smarter, his younger sibling slightly taller. The resemblances outweighed any

 differences. He and Saguio had been fashioned from identical genetic stock.

 Whatever that was. It didn't matter to Ranji whether they shared the same

 natural parents or not. Saguio was and always would be his brother.

 His apprehensions were overcome the next morning as soon as he caught sight of

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 his brother stepping off the transport sled. As for Saguio, if Ranji had sported

 two heads it would not have lessened his pleasure at finding himself again with

 his elder brother.

 They spent hours catching up, reminiscing, and swapping stories. If Saguio

 detected a certain reticence on the part of his revered sibling to discuss their

 parents, he chose to ignore it.

 "I heard about what happened to you out there. I can't imagine what it must've

 been like."

 Brother benign, truer words never fell from your lips. What would be his

 reaction, Ranji mused, when he finally learned the truth? Like everyone else,

 Saguio was convinced his brother was a hero. But that didn't matter, because he

 was only a hero among the Ashregan, and he was not of them. Nor was Saguio, nor

 Cossinza, nor clever Soratii-eev. Or were they?

 He needed to arrive at truth: without interference from Humans, or Ashregan, or

 Amplitur, or anyone else. Let them skirmish over the future of worlds or the

 disposition of half a galaxy. The fight for his identity concerned him

 nonetheless.

 When he judged the moment propitious to finally reveal what he'd learned to his

 friends, he realized they might very well kill him. Even Saguio might partake of

 the festivities. There were no armed Humans, no self-assured Hivistahm around to

 help him now. The balance of his life lay in his hands and no others. Whatever

 else he might think of his former captors, he had to admire the risk they'd

 taken in allowing him to return to his people. That suggested confidence ... or

 great daring. Both were reputed to be Human characteristics.

 Before he spoke, before he put his life on the line, he had to be certain beyond

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 any doubt. Despite what he'd told his captors prior to his departure from

 Omaphil, that was a destination he had yet to set eyes upon.

 Meanwhile he relaxed in the company of his brother, and reminiscences of simpler

 times. Of days when certainty had ruled his life, and the Purpose was always

 there for comfort. Now that hitherto exalted philosophy struck him as something

 less than grand.

 How was he to proceed when the time came to try and convince Saguio and the

 others that they were not Ashre-gan, but mere dupes of the Amplitur? He had with

 him no damning pictures, no reams of statistics, no means for conducting tests

 on querulous companions. Only his reputation and strength of character, and he

 knew full well those might not be enough.

 He didn't have to do it, he knew. He was safe among those who admired and

 respected him. On the basis of his perceived ordeal he could claim combat

 fatigue and put in for a noncombat position. They would love to have him as an

 instructor on Cossuut. He could try to forget what he'd seen, what he'd learned,

 and return home to live out the remainder of his life among familiar

 surroundings and friends. His participation one way or the other wasn't going to

 alter the course of a thousand-year-old conflict anyhow. Even if he was Human,

 he owed nothing to that dire and unfamiliar species.

 There remained, however, one responsibility he could not rationalize away, could

 not shrug off. That was to the unborn. Unless they were treated, his friends'

 offspring would unknowingly inherit the traits and physical distortions intended

 for them by the Amplitur. There would be no convincing a child born of such

 circumstances of its Humanness. Whatever his eventual fate, he did not see how

 he could let it happen to those for whom no choice would be allowed.

 He would make a beginning with Saguio. That decision, at least, was easy to

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 make. His brother would listen to what others would reflexively dismiss as

 madness. With luck he would be able to continue at least a few before they

 carted him away for medical treatment.

 Chapter Thirteen

  

 Ranji's friends and colleagues were not the only ones who listened with interest

 to his tale of solitary survival in the jungles of Eirrosad. The Amplitur

 devoted much attention to the exploits of their new fighters. Among them his

 story provoked a certain amount of contented jubilation . . . and curiosity.

 Certainly his experience confirmed the viability of the genetic line they hoped

 to propagate. It would not do for such a feat to pass ignored. Congratulations

 were in order ... as well as careful debriefing.

 "The Teachers are coming!"

 Ranji, Saguio, and several friends were relaxing in the field barracks when

 Tourmast burst in with his announcement. Until Operations decided on their next

 assignment there was little for them to do but exercise, try to stay active in

 the debilitating humidity, and wait.

 Silently Ranji absorbed the declaration's import. The forthcoming confrontation

 induced in him neither panic nor visible unease. He was surprised only because

 he had not expected it to come so soon. A great calm settled over him. He would

 not have to go seeking the answers to some of his questions: they were about to

 come to him.

 His future, like his self, would be defined by the reactions of the Teachers.

 For the first time he would be bringing something other than simple awe to the

 encounter. No matter what the outcome he could no longer think of them as purely

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 altruistic custodians of universal truths. The Humans and Hivistahm and Massood

 had taken away his innocence and traded it for a dubious Humanity.

 The Amplitur insisted they could not read minds, only venture suggestions. What

 if he did not respond properly? What sort of suggestions ought he to expect? He

 was almost too tired to care.

 Ashregan and Crigolit officers hunted frantically for the dress uniforms which

 were important only to them. While the Amplitur were not big on ceremony, many

 of those 'races which fought alongside them felt otherwise. A formal

 multispecies welcoming committee was hastily assembled north of the central

 landing disk.

 The heavily armed transport skid was setting down silently even as stragglers

 continued to arrive, uniforms hastily straightened, to swell the ranks of the

 impromptu honor guard. An air of anxious uncertainty hung about the ranked

 officers like stale pheromones.

 None of which appeared to trouble the Teachers. There were two of them:

 impressive when one realized that only four were present on all of Eirrosad.

 None among the assembled Ashregan and Crigolit could imagine what would motivate

 a surprise visit on their part to the potentially dangerous vicinity of a

 forward support base.

 Together they approached the regional commander on their four short, squat legs,

 advancing with ponderous grace. Tentacle tips danced snake ballet in the turgid

 air, describing arcs and circles pregnant with import only to another Amplitur.

 As a Unifer, Ranji was among those in front. He looked on silently as the

 esteemed pair conferred with the regional commander and his team. Among the

 Teachers' escort were a pair of tall, angular Copavi. Never having seen a Copavi

 in person before, he focused his attention on them. They looked too fragile to

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 manage the long, narrow-barreled weapons they carried.

 Then he saw that the Teachers were making their way toward the line in which he

 stood. Any attempt to further divert his thoughts was reduced to an instant

 exercise in futility.

 Alongside him friends and fellow fighters murmured expectantly. Saguio expanded

 with pride. His brother might be in for more excitement than he expected, Ranji

 mused quietly.

 Abruptly there was no more time for speculation. Stumpy eyestalks tipped with

 black globes tilted toward him, and pupils like streaks of molten gold focused

 on his own. As he returned the gaze he did his best to make his mind a complete

 blank, intimidated despite supposedly firm resolve to the contrary. After all,

 these were the Teachers.

 He felt warmth and good fellowship flowing outward from them, to envelop him in

 a soothing, reassuring mental blanket. How could such as these be responsible

 for the abominations postulated by the representatives of the Weave? They were

 the very essence of empathy and understanding. There was within them only

 goodness and light. He decided not to think; only to react.

 The base commander, a portly Ashregan of incongruously sorrowful demeanor, was

 speaking.

 "... And this is the famous Ranji-aar of Cossuut, who as you have heard only

 recently returned to us, having spent many -months alone in the jungle behind

 enemy lines."

 ''A most remarkable episode." Instead of projecting its thoughts into the minds

 of its audience the second Amplitur utilized its horny mouthparts to replicate

 the supple sounds of the Ashregan language. The utilization of natural speech

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 was in itself something of an honor for the one so addressed.

 "You bring Wellness to us all." Eyestalks bobbed at arm's length from Ranji"s

 face.

 Simultaneously he felt the familiar tickling inside his head, indication that

 one or both of the Amplitur was projecting directly to him. In spite of himself

 he tensed, but the Teacher did not jerk away. There was none of the thrashing of

 tentacles and twitching of limbs that would have signified contact with the

 mental defense mechanism of a mature Human nervous system.

 So he was not as Human as the scientists of the Weave insisted. Matter for

 contemplation. How much more of what they had told him on Omaphil was nonsense

 and propaganda? If he was fully Human, then his mental contact with a Teacher

 should have sent it reeling backward in shock and pain. Instead those slitted

 black eyes continued to weave imperceptibly on the ends of their stalks,

 regarding him with beatific solemnity.

 The gentling contact was full of admiration for his accomplishment and joy at

 his safe return, as well as concern for his current health. There was in it

 nothing hostile, nothing threatening. Nothing to fear.

 What followed then was no more than an afterthought, a casual

 inconsequentiality. An indifferent suggestion that Ranji's line step forward so

 that they might all be singled - out for special praise. Ranji blinked against

 the sun, and in the duration of that blink he hesitated. His brother did not,

 nor did any of the others. Only Ranji lingered; deliberately, minutely, making

 of his hesitation a slight stumble before joining the others in their crisp

 advance.

 The tight smile stayed frozen on his face. Because he knew that among his

 companions he alone could have held his position, he alone could have resisted

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 the suggestion. For the briefest of instants he had sensed command instead of

 suggestion, pull instead of request. For such a small revelation it filled him

 with great confusion.

 And fear. Had his pause been noted and understood for what it was? The smoky

 bulbous orbs hovering before him were impenetrable, the cephalopodian face

 behind them unreadable.

 The Amplitur gave no sign that anything was amiss or that it suspected anything

 abnormal had just taken place. Sensitive tentacle tips reached out and around to

 embrace him. He stood in that warm, alien grasp, numb and smiling, until he was

 released. Wordlessly the Teacher retracted its tentacles and together with its

 companion began moving down the line of fighters, leaving Ranji to try and

 analyze the confrontation as best he could.

 For the first time he had felt that contact with the Teachers involved more than

 mere suggestion. There had been a definite tug, a compulsion. Having recognized

 it, he'd been able to resist it, though he had eventually complied with the

 actual command for fear of being found out. His friends, he realized, had not

 been allowed that choice.

 How many such "suggestions" had he and his companions unwittingly been compelled

 to comply with in their lifetimes? This time he had been able to recognize and

 resist. But neither had he reacted as a Human would have. What was he? What had

 the Hivistahm surgeons made of him?

 He had little time to wonder, because the Amplitur retraced their steps until

 they were again confronting Mm.

 This time the insinuating, insistent probe was directed at him alone. There was

 no opportunity to conceal resistance among mass movement. He waited, fighting to

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 conceal his unease.

 It was "suggested" that he tell his story once again, so that the Teachers as

 well as his fellow fighters might benefit from his experiences. Under other

 circumstances Ranji would have demurred, but he knew he was not being asked: he

 was being told.

 Though he knew he could have refused, he complied promptly and with apparent

 enthusiasm, turning to face the ranks of silent soldiers. He could feel black

 and gold eyes on his back, studying him intently, and did his best to ignore the

 sensation as he once more regaled his companions with his carefully composed

 sequence of elaborate lies.

 Occasionally one Teacher or the other would silently suggest that he elaborate

 on this or that particular point. Ranji complied readily with the mental

 coaching that passed unnoticed by his audience.

 When he'd concluded the tale he was offered the greatest honor of all. Had not

 the Amplitur for thousands of years carried the burden of the Purpose

 figuratively upon their backs? The Teacher nearest him knelt, beckoning to him

 with both mind and tentacle. Given no choice in the matter, a reluctant Ranji

 stepped forward and settled himself atop the Amplitur, straddling the smooth,

 fleshy back. The Teacher thoughtfully steadied its passenger with a tentacle,

 then stood.

 One of the tall Copavi approached and activated an instrument to record the

 image for distribution purposes. See! the picture would say. The accomplishments

 of this brave Ashregan have raised him even above the Amplitur themselves.

 Figuratively, of course. A sardonic Ranji had no doubt that the image would be

 widely displayed.

 As he quietly held the unaccustomed position Ranji noticed that he could easily

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 have slipped a knife into the base of the fleshy skull, penetrating the brain

 and forever shutting off the flow of gentle but irresistible suggestions. The

 violence of the notion unnerved him. The very concept would have been anathema

 to an Ashregan . . . but not to a Human.

 When the Copavi finished its work, a shaken Ranji was allowed to slip off the

 slick, spineless back and resume his place in line. The Teachers formally

 addressed the entire gathering, praising them for their dedication and bravery,

 exhorting their dedication to the Purpose. Ranji listened as intently as the

 others, but drew no comfort from the compliments. It was as if something

 unwelcome and vaguely diseased were squirming unimpeded through his thoughts,

 rearranging them to suit its own specific notions of right, wrong, and reality.

 A parasite, he thought, only becomes a parasite when one is made aware of its

 presence. There were on many worlds bloodsucking creatures which released

 anticoagulants that allowed blood to flow painlessly and unbeknownst to the host

 animal. The Amplitur, he now saw, did something similar with thoughts, causing

 commands to be perceived as suggestions, orders to be seen as polite requests.

 The realization made him feel unclean.

 As the nearest member of the pair stared at him he again felt the mental

 contact, the suggestion that by way of concluding the ceremony he offer a few

 inspiring words to his fellow fighters. Anger momentarily overcame common sense.

 "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not." Even as the words left his mouth he found

 himself regretting them.

 The Amplitur's weaving tentacle froze. Protuberant black eyes tilted further in

 his direction. The suggestion was repeated, this time with compelling force.

 Damn all ignorance! Ranji thought furiously. He deliberately ignored the

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 unmistakable command. Though the Teacher was three times his mass, in a

 close-quarter fight it would be no match for his Humanized bones and muscles.

 Unable to restrain their curiosity, a few fellow soldiers leaned forward just

 enough to stare in his direction. The continued silence was making them

 uncomfortable.

 The second Amplitur approached and reiterated the suggestion. In the grip of

 projected compulsion Ranji should have enthusiastically stepped forward to

 harangue his friends. Instead he remained stolidly immobile, his expression

 blank.

 The Teachers conferred. Though Ranji could not read their thoughts they

 broadcast their confusion through the active movement of eyestalks and

 tentacles. Clearly they were puzzled rather than apprehensive.

 After several minutes they turned again to face him. He readied himself to

 attack or run as the situation dictated.

 "You are tired," came the empathetic thought. "It explains your hesitation. You

 have been through a most difficult and trying time from which you have not yet

 fully recovered. We understand."

 Ranji's muscles untensed. Having discussed his defiance, in the absence of any

 other immediate explanation they had chosen to interpret his noncompliance with

 their request as the result of lingering trauma! His immunity remained a secret.

 Relief continued to flow through him as they turned to exchange final

 formalities with the base commander and his staff. He was angry with himself.

 His resistance had been foolish and unnecessary. Had they suspected anything

 unnatural he would have soon found himself in yet another operating theater full

 of Amplitur surgeons eager to explore the parameters of his enigmatic mind. Luck

 and circumstance had saved him, not a dubious intelligence.

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 He joined his companions in voice if not enthusiasm in shouting fond farewells

 as the Teachers reboarded their transport. The encounter had left him more

 confused and uncertain than ever. What sort of creatures were they, these

 Amplitur, who could urge others to violence against their will while

 simultaneously anguishing over their welfare? He had personally experienced that

 concern along with their exercises in mental dominance. It was a contradiction

 he found himself unable to resolve.

 About one thing they had been quite accurate. He was extremely tired.

 As the skid rose to treetop level and pivoted, the assembly began to break up,

 officers and troops returning to duty stations or barracks. Conversation was

 split evenly between the unprecedented visit and the forthcoming evening meal.

 A number of Ashregan and Crigolit came over to congratulate him on the honor

 he'd received, intercepting him before he could make it back to his room. One

 Crigolit subjoiner was particularly effusive in her praise, offering by way of

 the ultimate compliment the opportunity to copulate. Metaphorically, of course.

 Saguio was waiting for him, the naked adulation on his face painful to behold.

 Ranji found himself looking past his younger brother's admiring eyes., deep into

 the brain, in search of a peculiar neuroganglion that was not of natural origin.

 Suddenly he wanted to thrust his hand in, through one of the unnaturally large

 eye sockets, to pluck out the offending, traitorous organ.

 How many other races sported similar Amplitur-induced modifications within their

 minds, he wondered? The Crigolit? The Mazvec? Perhaps even the intelligent

 Korath. The Amplitur dominated a vast number of worlds, he knew, and the more he

 learned the more it was made clear to him that all of them were in need of

 exploratory surgery.

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 ''Wait until the family hears about this!" Saguio was rambling. "To be so

 congratulated by a Teacher . . . no, two Teachers. That they should take the

 risk to come this close to a fire zone just to praise you in person . . . it's a

 singular honor, Ranji."

 ''I know.'' He glanced up. ''Did you sense them in your mind?"

 "Sure. Several times. It felt good, like it always does." He blinked

 uncertainly. "Why would you ask such a thing? Didn't you feel them?"

 "Of course." He looked away. "They asked me to do something. They asked more

 than once. I refused each time."

 Saguio considered. "Well, I guess they felt you weren't up to it. What did they

 want, anyway?"

 "For me to-make a concluding speech. 'Fight to the last for the Purpose!' That

 sort of thing."

 "You couldn't manage that? For the Teachers?" Saguio eyed his brother askance.

 "You don't look that tired to me."

 "I'm afraid that I am." Ranji found himself staring outside, at the surrounding,

 all-encompassing jungle. "I'm very tired. I'm more tired than you know."

 A note of alarm crept into his sibling's voice. "Maybe you'd better check back

 in to the infirmary. You might've picked up something latent out there."

 No, I didn't pick anything up, he thought. I left something. "I'll be all right.

 I just need to rest. The strain of having the Teachers here . . . you

 understand.''

 "I guess so." Saguio sounded doubtful but willing.

 "It's almost meal time. You start on over. I'll be along in a minute." Ranji

 barely quashed an incipient Human smile.

 "If you're sure ..." His brother managed a grin. "I'll find some good seats,

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 though after what you've been through you can probably sit anywhere you want."

 Ranji watched until Saguio disappeared around the next barracks. Surprisingly,

 he felt the first pangs of evening hunger. Food, at least, was devoid of

 biological and philosophical complications. Human or Ashregan, he could still

 take pleasure in eating.

 He had to tell Saguio soon, regardless of possible consequences. Better to have

 it all out at once than wait for it to slip out in confusing, contradictory bits

 and pieces.

 Or he could end it. Just lift the service pistol from his belt, place it gently

 against the side of his skull, and in an instant banish all pain, all confusion,

 all uncertainty. No need then to agonize over who was telling the truth, over

 the true nature of himself.

 It was the thought that perished, not the mind that conceived and discarded it.

 He did not fear death, but he refused to die without answers.

 That much, at least, he knew about himself.

 Chapter Fourteen

  

 The three Humans sprawled languidly around the crescent-shaped table, shuttling

 down drinks as they watched the projections which cavorted amid the storm of

 colored lights that filled the relaxation center. Music caressed respective

 tympana as near-naked men and women flitted erotically through fragments of

 light sharp and distinct as metal shavings. They and their immediate

 surroundings danced submerged in the mists of a perfumed artificial twilight.

 The Center was extensive and they were not alone. Rep-resentatives of other

 Weave species sought similar solace in the febrile evening. Massood and Wais,

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 S'van and Hivistahm and more eagerly availed themselves of the sooth-ing

 surroundings. For each, different images dwelt in the deliberately coy shapes

 which darted through the high-tech fog.

 Not surprisingly, the perceptions of the Massood dif-fered little from those of

 the Humans, though the figures that twisted and pirouetted for them in the

 suggestive light were taller, slimmer, and completely covered in fine gray fur.

 The Wais saw elegant movement devoid of heavy sex-ual overtones, while the

 contemplative Hivistahm will-ingly allowed themselves to be blinded by deceptive

 iridescence. Whatever the S'van observed amused them greatly, but then there was

 very little which did not. Being bright and intelligent but woefully deficient

 in imagina-tion, the O'o'yan saw not much of anything. Within the confines of

 the Center, not merely beauty but virtually everything was in the eye of the

 beholder. Most of the time the three visiting Humans preferred to eye the

 projections instead of each other. Though Sergeant Selinsing was moderately

 attractive, her fellow noncoms Carson and Moreno wouldn't have dreamed of

 undressing her with their active imaginations the way they did the figures in

 the projections. She was, after all, very much one of the group. Besides which

 she outranked them.

 Carson manipulated a switch on the table. Instantly the projection he'd selected

 was sitting there beside him, in-viting him with her eyes and more. He knew he

 could reach out and touch it, experiencing a tactile fabrication guaranteed to

 please. Like all such liaisons, however, it would prove as transitory as the

 contents of his credit line, and about as satisfying. With a sigh he nudged a

 control and watched as the apparition, like so many previous loves, returned to

 the wizard regions which had spawned it.

 Moreno was next to rejoin reality. To the silent amuse-ment of her companions,

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 Selinsing lingered longest among the projections. She blinked as the last one

 vanished.

 "That one was new to the files." She was mildly apol-ogetic. "Mutant

 slavo-equine. Very interesting."

 "Spare me." Moreno slugged down recombinant li-quor. Smallest of the three,

 spare of word and feature, he had the doe sadness of a saint and the moves of a

 pit viper. His tiny black eyes scanned the rolling, uneven levels of the Center.

 "I'm sick of this. Look at that odious pair over there." His head bobbed.

 Like a bear emerging from hibernation, Carson swiveled in his seat. Selinsing

 tilted her head to one side.

 The two Wais were deep in conversation, the hypnotic movement of arms, fingers,

 head, and neck supplementing verbal communication. In attire they were

 impeccable, in gesture flawless. Moreno wanted to puke.

 ' 'They squat on their feathery butts and never get within a hundred kilometers

 of any actual fighting, but if we happened to ask about joining the Weave they

 would imme-diately vote against us."

 Carson belched, a rolling benthonic exhalation. "Who gives a shit about their

 stupid Weave, anyway?" He sucked at his tankard. "Screw "em."

 "We do all the fighting and they won't even let us vote in their organization,"

 Moreno muttered bitterly.

 "I don't mind that." Selinsing was incongruously pe-tite. "What I don't like is

 sitting here while their stupid Military Council decides strategy. They've

 always been overcautious."

 "Just so." Moreno straightened in his chair. "The only way we're ever going to

 get off this stinking, sweaty dung-ball of a world is to kick the living mierda

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 out of the enemy, and we can't do that while we're getting blitzed in here.''

 "Can't do it out there, either," Carson reminded him. "Orders. You know what the

 Council says. Patience."

 "Yeah, patience," said Moreno morosely. "And the Massood go along with 'em. Damn

 shrew-faces."

 "They've always gone along with the Council." Selin-sing drew imaginary lines on

 the tabletop. "That's why this war's been going on for so long. Not that they're

 cow-ards. Just overcareful. They've been listening to the S'van and Wais for too

 long. Not to mention the Turlog."

 "I heard that two of the crabs were on Eirrosad, dictat-ing tactics." Moreno

 glowered at a distant pair of necking S'van. Their eruptive beards intertwined

 indistinguishably.

 "It would not surprise me," said Selinsing. "Orders are that no unit can advance

 more than two kilometers for fear of being flanked."

 "Flanked mierda." Moreno's disgusted gaze aban-doned the S'van. "War's been

 going on here long enough for everybody to know everyone else's position. We

 know pretty well where the enemy headquarters for this region is situated. We

 ought to smash right in there, take it out, verdad?, and not stop until we reach

 their planetary HQ.

 That'd put fin to the Purpose on this piece of dirt. Then maybe they'd post us

 somewhere decent."

 "I agree," said Selinsing, "but Command doesn't."

 Carson leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you two quit yer bitching? We're

 stuck here and there ain't a damn thing we can do about it because our own

 officers spend all their time diplomatically disagreeing with Massood and S'van

 tactical drivel. They've got less guts than the squids."

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 "As a matter of fact," Selinsing murmured softly, "it is said that the Amplitur

 actually have two sets of guts."

 "Then they're probably real happy with the current state of affairs." Carson

 sought wisdom in the depths of his impressive tankard. "Me, I personally don't

 think they want to beat us. Just keep things stalemated until they can outlive

 us."

 Moreno rested his forearms on the table. The music of many-species music

 ricocheted off surrounding walls. "I say somebody's got to do something to

 change the present state of affairs. Somebody's got to do it now.'"

 "What did you have in mind?" Eyes half-closed, the relaxed Selinsing

 contemplated invisible amours.

 "Our position is pretty isolated, the farthest advanced of any firebase. The

 ideal place from which to strike. An end could be put to the business of

 Eirrosad ... if some-body had the guts to do it." Eyes narrowed, he appraised

 his colleagues. "Preferably several somebodies."

 "You mean hit 'em with just our own squads?" Carson shifted in his seat.

 "Wouldn't be enough firepower to be sure of success. Anyway we'd be ordered back

 too soon for it to do any good."

 "Not if we started out with incontrovertible orders in the first place," Moreno

 ventured conspiratorially.

 Carson blinked at him. "Must be too many lights in here. I ain't followin' you."

 Moreno put a hand on his friend's arm. "What if the word came down from Command

 level to carry out just such an attack?"

 Selinsing uttered something unmistakably derisive in the language of her

 ancestors. "At least you have chosen the proper venue for wishful thinking."

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 "Yeah, dream on," Carson grunted.

 "You know Colonel Chin?" Moreno inquired of his companions.

 When they drew close together Carson's thick eyebrows resembled a pair of

 caterpillars engaged in unspeakable activities. "Sure. Everybody knows Chin. But

 Chin ain't in command of our position. Wang-lee is."

 "That's so. But right now Wang-lee is busy conferenc-ing with the major minds

 back at Katulla Nexus, hashing strategy with the crabs and the S'van. That

 leaves Chin in charge until she gets back." He leaned forward eagerly. "I happen

 to know Chin's as tired of waiting on the Coun-cil as the rest of us."

 "I have never heard him say anything along those lines." Selinsing was being

 cautious.

 "You wouldn't expect him to blurt it out in public, now would you?'' Moreno

 smiled like a man in possession of a considerable secret.

 Carson's eyes widened. "You've talked to him! About this?" He whistled softly.

 "One wrong word scrapes the wrong nerve and you'll find yourself back at Supply

 Cen-tral, busted in rank and cataloging foodstuffs for the du-ration."

 "Anything would be better than squatting in the middle of this jungle, waiting

 to go mad."

 "You are joking," said Selinsing slowly. "Though if someone like Chin were to

 give the orders ..."

 "Give orders, hell." Carson turned to stare intently at Moreno. "If Chin feels

 the same way about these delays as the rest of us, could be he might consider

 doing more than just issuing orders. Like maybe leading an assault himself.''

 Suddenly aware he might have gone too far too fast, Moreno adopted a cautioning

 tone. "Slow down, my friends. I've only suspicions. I don't know Colonel Chin's

 feelings exactly. It's only been mentioned on a couple of occasions, and

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 casually at that. Chin never got specific. He's a funny kind of guy, even for an

 officer."

 "Nothing wrong with his rep. I know he's got what it takes upstairs." Carson

 rapped his belly. "Question is, does he have it here?"

 "If we hit the enemy with our full strength," Selinsing was murmuring, "not just

 our three squads but everything on the base, we could roll right over them and

 strike for their planetary headquarters. Ja; maybe even get ourselves a couple

 of squids. Vacuum them right out of the forest."

 "That's the wipe!" Carson drained his tankard, glanced hopefully at Moreno. "How

 about it, Juan? You think Chin might go for it?"

 "Not in so many words," the shorter man replied care-fully. "Chin's as focused

 on his career as any officer. He'd have to feel he was covered in case of a

 screwup."

 "Certain ambiguities might creep into official commu-nications, rendering

 ultimate comprehension a matter of individual interpretation." Both men looked

 at Selinsing, who smiled like a petite wolverine. Communications was her

 subspeciality.

 "There is a certain officer in Base Operations," she explained unctuously. "He

 is Massood. If these hypothet-ical orders happened to be received in Massood,

 difficul-ties in translation might have to be resolved as best as possible by

 whichever personnel happened to be present at the time."

 "Like you?" Carson wore a grin of a different sort.

 She smiled ever so slightly. Escaping rainbows stained her jet-black crewcut.

 "It is not inconceivable. It would of course also be incumbent upon me to see

 that matters of ambivalence were conveyed personally to the acting base

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 commandant so that he could propose a determination based on available evidence

 and expert opinion."

 "You again." Carson's admiration knew no bounds.

 Having intended only to submit the first draft of a casual notion, Moreno was

 somewhat taken aback by the speed with which his companions had proceeded to

 polish it.

 "Slow down. We're all half-drunk."

 "Not me," Carson insisted cheerfully. "I'm four-fifths, at least.''

 "What if Chin doesn't take to the idea in the spirit with which it's offered?"

 Selinsing shrugged. "Then I can be held responsible for a poor translation from

 the Massood, remember? I'm willing to take that much of the risk. If he so

 chooses, all he can fault us for personally is an excess of enthusiasm."

 Carson's chair hummed as it retreated from the table. He rose, weaving only

 slightly. As he stepped out of the Human cone of influence, the shape in the

 shadows changed from that of a tall, voluptuous woman to a short and to the

 sergeant's eyes utterly repulsive female S'van.

 "Let's do it now." His eyes blazed. "Let's do it quick. I'm sick of sitting on

 my ass blowing kisses at shadows. I want to kill something."

 That was Carson for you, his friends knew. Just a reg-ular guy. Whispering

 excitedly among themselves the non-coms exited the club, oblivious as always to

 the expressions of disgust and relief which crossed the faces of their non-Human

 allies and fellow patrons as the three primates de-parted.

 Chin's apartment was located deep within the forward firebase's central

 accommodations complex. Given the op-tion, on Eirrosad as elsewhere,

 high-ranking officers usu-ally elected to sacrifice sweeping views in favor of

 claustrophobic safety. As befitted the base's second-in-command, Chin rated not

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 one but three rooms: a sleeping cubby, private hygienic facilities, and a

 meeting and strat-egy room. Native vegetation had been planted atop the complex,

 which in combination with sophisticated meth-ods of camouflage allowed the base

 to blend into the sur-rounding jungle.

 It was quite late and typically dark outside when the three noncoms ventured

 from their quarters. Overhead, the camouflage aerogel shimmered like fro/en

 smoke, concealing movement, mass, and heat from possible de-tection. Beneath its

 distorting imagery hundreds of sol-diers and support personnel sheltered.

 The stone-faced, uninhibited Chin greeted them in a pair of briefs. He disliked

 climate control as much as of-ficial ceremony and in the privacy of his own

 quarters disdained the use of both. Formally attired, his nocturnal visitors

 were soon sweating profusely.

 Physically Chin was anything but impressive. He was shorter than any of them,

 Selinsing included. Like her, his features were small, verging on the delicate.

 The Malay returned Chin's stare boldly. There was about as much fat on him as on

 an egret, which he superficially resembled. Despite that he looked older than he

 was.

 Yet this was a man who had spent his entire adult life fighting in the service

 of the Weave. The mere fact of his continued survival was all the testimonial he

 needed. The numerous scars which covered his body, scars which even Hivistahm

 medical science had been unable to eliminate completely, underlined his

 accomplishments as rakishly as they clothed his muscles. Small he was, but

 nothing to trifle with.

 In his expectant presence Carson and Selinsing wa-vered. In the confines of a

 commandant's quarters at two o'clock in the morning, intentions nurtured by

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 boredom and booze tended to lose immediacy. As the one who had originally

 conceived it, a hesitant Moreno was therefore left to give birth to the

 proposition.

 "Colonel, sir, my colleagues and I, well . . . we've been talking."

 "So I presumed when you requested a meeting at this unconscionable hour." Chin's

 words were like the rest of him: short, clipped, to the point.

 Moreno was not intimidated. Chin was widely re-spected as a soldier's officer.

 "It's something that's beeir bothering us for a long time, something we've

 talked about a lot. It's not anything we can take care of without help.

 Command-level help."

 "Your help, sir," Selinsing chipped in. "And your dis-cretion."

 "Really." Eyebrows ephemeral as a late-night regret rose slightly. "It's good to

 know that one's opinion is re-spected by one's troops. Excuse me a moment." The

 near-naked officer rose to check the door, then his viewscreen, before resuming

 his smile and his seat. ' 'Cool out tonight. Metrolg predicts rain."

 "When doesn't it rain on this stinking planet?" Carson muttered rhetorically.

 "When indeed. Tell me now: with what do you need my help?"

 "Something of vital importance, sir," Moreno told him.

 "Allow me the privilege of making my own evalua-tion," Chin murmured. "It may

 differ from yours."

 "I don't think it will, sir." Moreno glanced at his friends for support, then

 smiled tightly back at the com-mandant. "None of us do."

 When the word came down from Colonel Chin's Tactics Group that something big was

 in the offing, the Massood were willing, if a shade puzzled. It struck several

 of their officers that they had not been consulted on procedure. Informed that

 the success of the exercise hinged upon sur-prise and unpredictability, they had

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 to confess that it had indeed caught them completely unprepared, and might

 logically therefore have the same effect upon the enemy. De-bate, they were

 informed, would only slow them down. It was time to act, not discuss.

 When informed of the nature of the forthcoming oper-ation, the Human officers

 and noncoms expressed unqual-ified enthusiasm. Though most of them were as tired

 of sitting around as the trio which had confronted Chin, none had heretofore

 manifested their feelings in half so overt a fashion. One or two of the younger

 officers did find them-selves pausing to wonder at the abruptness of it all, but

 their curiosity was drowned in the rush of preparations which followed the

 handing down of orders.

 Among the support personnel, Hivistahm and O'o'yan, Wais and Yula and the rest,

 there were only the usual misgivings. As the representatives of the noncombat

 spe-cies lived in a perpetual state of apprehension anyway, it mattered little

 to them whether Human and Massood forces were coming or going. They performed

 their assigned tasks with silent efficiency while doing their best to keep their

 attention averted from the bloodthirsty grimaces and ex-clamations of those

 sentients who were preparing to die on their behalf.

 Some who were hobbyistically inclined to philosophical consideration of matters

 strategic wondered why this par-ticular moment had been chosen for a massive

 attack and could find no reason. It did not trouble them overly. It was in the

 nature of Humans to do the unpredictable. They had been doing it with regularity

 and to great effect ever since they had been recruited into the effort. No

 Hivistahm, no Lepar was about to second-guess them.

 Imagine mounting an all-out assault on the enemy when there was no obvious

 justification for doing so! Clearly a stroke of purest brilliance. The support

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 teams threw them-selves energetically into the last-minute, frantic

 prepara-tions.

 F'tath was not a high-ranking officer, but he was S'van. Even as he joked and

 hurried to carry out his own duties, he found himself questioning the press of

 activity. Not the actual orders; they at least were in line with historical

 Human-Massood strategy. What concerned him was the narrow chain of command down

 which they had been passed. For example, as pertained to his own department,

 there hadn't even been time beforehand to discuss pro-jected lines of supply, an

 omission which to him smacked of the blatantly neglectful.

 He promptly made it his announced intention to bring the oversight to the

 attention of his superiors at Sector Command as soon as he finished supervising

 requisite preparations for the battle group's departure, this being about as

 close to actual combat as a civilized S'van could come. So hectic was the press

 of work, however, that he could not seem to find sufficient time to properly

 formu-late the questions he badly wanted to ask.

 Which was very much the intention of those who had drawn up the departure

 schedules.

 By the time F'tath and those few others to whom similar thoughts had occurred

 were allotted a break, dozens of heavily armed sleds and sliders were rising

 above the for-est canopy and streaming away eastward, the start of the assault

 undeterred by the morning rain. At which point it seemed foolish even to a S'van

 to question an operation already under way. So F'tath and others of like mind

 carried their concerns with them to bed.

 No reserves were held back. Every slider, sled, and sol-dier on the base was

 thrown into the all-out attack. Hu-mans and Massood rolled over the first couple

 of enemy positions before the startled defenders realized what had hit them.

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 Crigolit and Ashregan were prepared to beat back surgical thrusts by small

 groups of fast-moving troops, not the kind of ravening firepower which the

 at-tackers now brought to bear. That was how it had gone on Eirrosad: probe and

 flee, strike and retreat. Hurt your en-emy as much as possible and then fall

 back to heavily fortified bases deep in the jungle.

 The Crigolit and Ashregan had no idea how to react to the sudden shift in

 tactics. Not that their assailants gave them time for prolonged contemplation.

 The Massood in particular were elated at the speed with which the first couple

 of enemy positions were overrun. Casualties were light, boldness and

 determination having proven themselves the equal of twice the firepower. They

 complimented their Human allies even as they redoubled their own gracefully

 lethal efforts.

 Certain Human noncommissioned officers felt them-selves vindicated. The first

 enemy bases had been taken with greater ease than anyone could have hoped for.

 Not only Human senses had been dulled by the long war of attrition on Eirrosad.

 Crigolit and Ashregan reaction times were likewise well below the usual, to

 their detriment. It was a damn good thing, Carson told his colleagues, that they

 had decided to move first.

 Conferencing with his subordinates, Chin hit upon a strategy of racing past

 instead of engaging the remaining three enemy firebases to strike at enemy

 Sector Headquar-ters itself. Barely enough time was allotted for the squad

 supervisors to bellow their agreement, let alone voice any objections.

 If they could not merely take out but capture that critical installation it

 would place them in position to flank and put pressure on the enemy's planetary

 HQ. A victory of that magnitude might not end the war for Eirrosad, but it would

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 unequivocally upset the status quo. Dispersement of this possible conclusion

 induced tired soldiers to redou-ble their efforts.

 Where resistance was weak or even nonexistent slider riders and sled troops

 raced ahead, bypassing bewildered enemy emplacements and floater forces, leaving

 them with nothing to shoot at but vacant forest and empty air. Though

 increasingly spread out, the combined Human-Massood battle group persisted in

 its wild, mad advance, shoving aside or smashing everything in its path.

 Floaters were blasted out of the sky before they could assume adequate defensive

 positions, or were shot down from behind as they tried to retreat. Enemy stores

 and structures were demolished on the ground as the sled teams strafed and

 bombed them in passing.

 Stealing a modicum of time, the commandant of one of the remaining enemy

 firebases did manage to mount something of a counterattack. Sliders and floaters

 and sleds filled the air with explosive projectiles and needle beams, cohabiting

 in technologically advanced mayhem as they darted through and around

 tree-covered Sludgel while driving the unfortunate native fauna half-crazy.

 The Humans excelled at such random, individual combat, cutting up and isolating

 enemy forces into smaller and smaller groups, until there was nothing left to

 fight back. Outmatched, Crigolit and Ashregan units had no hope of halting the

 assault.

 Ineffective as it was, when the first enemy counterattack came F'tath fully

 expected Command to give the order to hold and consolidate their substantial

 gains. When no such directive was forthcoming he sought clarification beyond his

 immediate command level, only to be informed that Colonel Chin and his staff

 were far too busy plotting the next stage of the advance to grant an audience to

 a lower-level supply officer. Though he responded with the usual S'van humor, it

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 was not the response F'tath had hoped for.

 In a combat situation, even S'van had learned the value of deferring to Human

 judgment, but something about this particular campaign left F'tath feeling more

 than a little uneasy. Though bold and clever on the battlefield, Humans were not

 perfect, not immune to the occasional tactical mistake. He tried to share his

 concerns with others, but they were either numbed by the incivility of it all or

 else too busy to listen to him. In point of fact he was usually too busy to

 listen to himself.

 But there was always time for worrying.

 Chapter Fifteen

  

 So swift, brutal, and effective had the Weave assault been that both forward

 firebases had been lost by the time Ranji's group received word to mobilize.

 Saguio had been lounging close enough to unit communications to overhear the

 first reports.

 "They came in so fast, with utter recklessness," he said breathlessly. "Our

 people didn't have a chance. Northwest Base managed to put together a

 counterattack but Com-mand Central doesn't expect it to stop them." Outside the

 barracks, members of different species were running or scuttling about

 frantically. Sirens wailed and vehicles sped across the grounds with criminal

 disregard for equally frantic pedestrians. The base's inhabitants were hastily

 trying to bring order out of chaos.

 Crigolit barely paused long enough to exchange greet-ings via antenna touch,

 while Segunians tripped over ev-erything including their own gangly limbs in

 their fervid attempts to reach their stations.

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 Ranji paid little attention as his brother harangued fel-low members of the team

 from Cossuut. The Humans and Massood, it appeared, had attacked in overwhelming

 numbers, concentrating a tremendous amount of firepower on a small front. They

 had pushed past or broken through successive defensive layers and were

 apparently striking directly for Sector Headquarters itself, with little in

 their path to slow or stop them. The battle front, which had been relatively

 stable for many years, had been completely shattered.

 Skids landed outside the barracks, fully stocked and readied for combat by the

 base's Acarian equipment han-dlers. A dazed Ranji felt himself swept along as

 the trans-port rose and sped northward, skimming the treetops in its haste to

 reach their assigned position.

 The Cossuut unit was supposed to be utilized only for special purposes, but in

 the face of Sector Integrity's col-lapse every available fighter had been

 conscripted for de-fense. As the craft began to descend toward the line which

 had been established outside one of the three surviving firebases, Ranji was

 forced to seriously consider the like-lihood that he might soon be called upon

 to strike at Hu-man beings with something more damaging than sharp queries.

 Could he give the order to fire on his own kind? If they were indeed his own

 kind, he reminded himself. In the frenzy of confusion and preparation that

 engulfed him he was no longer certain of anything, except that prospects for a

 long and comfortable retirement had recently been drastically reduced. Death at

 least would resolve all un- certainties and put an end to his private

 sufferings.               .j

 Once more the peculiar calm which his troops mistook    j for quiet confidence

 settled over him. Then someone was shaking him by the arm.

 "Did you hear, Ranji?" Saguio regarded his brother with concern. "Change of

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 plans. Command's leaving all the firebases to fend for themselves. We're being

 commit-ted directly to the defense of Sector Headquarters." His   | eyes

 glittered expectantly. "We're going to be right in the   " front of the

 fighting. No more sneaking around in the mid-dle of the night."

 "I heard. Get into your armor. Tell Tourmast and Weenn to pass the word. We're

 liable to come under fire before we arrive."

 Saguio frowned slightly. "Headquarters hasn't come under attack yet. Body armor

 can get hot. There's plenty of time."

 "Where Humans are involved there's never enough time. Just ask the survivors of

 the two forward firebases ... if there are any. Move it!''

 Startled, Saguio rushed to comply.

 Ranji followed deliberately. War of a different kind was raging within him,

 unsupportable claims doing battle with reluctant truths, emotion locked in

 earnest combat with reason.

 Abruptly the grandiose futility of it all struck hard. A thousand years of

 unending conflict, not over survival or culture but an idea. The more tenuous

 the concept, he mused, the greater the ferocity with which it was con-tested. It

 seemed a wasteful repository for a gift as pre-cious as intelligence.

 But if there was nothing to do battle over, what place did someone like himself

 who had been trained to fight from birth have in civilized society, be it

 Ashregan or Human? He began to think of himself as an intellectual as well as

 emotional foundling. Did such thoughts trouble his friends from home? Had they

 ever worried any Humans, and if so, how had those mysterious creatures dealt

 with it? He wondered if he would ever know.

 Certainly they were a most unique and peculiar species, and what was he if not

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 peculiar enough to be one of them?

 The cataract of concern dulled his mind as he slipped into his own field armor,

 a task he'd drilled at often enough to perform without thinking.

  

 "They're doing what" Field Marshal Granville gaped at his Massood counterpart

 only long enough for the import of the other's words to sink in before the two

 of them started toward Communications. Granville was a mature, stocky, slightly

 overweight man, but over the short dis-tance he had no trouble keeping up with

 the long-legged alien. Additional confirmation of the initial reports was

 mirrored in the expressions of the communications personnel on duty,

 irrespective of species.

 "There is no longer any question of what has happened." The Massood district

 commander's whiskers were twitching violently. "On-site verification arrived

 just before I left to inform you. I felt it would be more believable coming from

 me than via courier or over the system, and I am sure that like myself you

 desire to waste as little time as possible in dealing with the consequences of

 these actions."

 "Gratefulness for that, Shatenka," wheezed the field marshal in passable

 Massood. The two sector commanders hurried to the nearest console, causing the

 Hivistahm tech-nician seated there to fumble nervously at his translator in the

 presence of so much feral rank.

 "Are you in contact with the base in question?" Granville inquired bluntly. The

 Hivistahm replied in the affir-mative. "Then put me through."

 "Truly I should like to, honored Commander, but I cannot," the Hivistahm replied

 sorrowfully.

 "Why not?" Granville's tenebrous Human tone made the non combative Hivistahm

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 shake slightly.

 "Because there is truly no one there. All responses from programs are.

 Apparently everyone in the attack partici-pating is, even to including support

 personnel."

 "This is madness." Commander Shatenka added some-thing in colloquial Massood

 which none of the tangent translators near him succeeded in picking up.

 The two commanders moved to another console and confronted a Human officer.

 "Who's in charge out there?"

 Names scrolled down the screen in front of the woman like damned souls plunging

 hellward. "A Colonel Nehemiah Chin, sir."

 "I have remembrance of that name." Shatenka's upper lip curled emphatically. "A

 good officer. It makes no sense."

 "I'll say it makes no sense," Granville growled. "Who sent him orders requesting

 an all-out assault in his sector? It leaves us damn exposed back here."

 "I have already called for a full defensive mobiliza-tion," Shatenka assured

 him.

 "I know, I know. That's hardly the point."

 A Hivistahm analyst looked up from her console, wary of the Human commander's

 temper. "Honored sirs, first reports indicate that the forces in question

 already taken have two major hostile positions and are directly for the enemy

 Regional Command center striking."

 "You're right. Someone is mad." Granville glanced up at his tall counterpart and

 lowered his voice. "What's your considered opinion, Shatenka. Can Chin bring

 this off?"

 The Massood considered, digging energetically at a back molar. His whiskers

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 subsided. ' 'The forces in question are composed largely of your own kind.

 However, since you ask my thoughts, I should say it depends on how much

 firepower they can ultimately bring to bear when they fi-nally reach their

 target. If by then the enemy has not pro-foundly reduced them in strength and

 they do not pause their attack long enough to give the Ashregan time to mus-ter

 reserves from other regions, then I should think it pos-sible. Just."

 Granville angrily fingered his translator. "If this attack fails, or even

 stalls, they'll find themselves trapped be-tween large-scale enemy regional

 defenses and those they've bypassed or failed to wipe out on the way in. In

 which event we could lose the entire battle group."

 "Your thinking mirrors my own. They have advanced too far too fast. Now they

 have no choice but to press the assault.''

 "Maybe not. If we can reach individual squad leaders, we can countermand their

 orders. If enough of the group turns together, they ought to be able to fight

 their way back.'' Granville plotted a path toward fieldcom.

 Shatenka followed. "Communications at this range will be bad."

 "I know. I wish R&D could find a way to defend a communications relay satellite

 against knockdown for longer than a couple of days. We'll just have to do the

 best we can."

 Somehow he was not surprised when the O'o'yan tech-nician informed them that he

 could not make contact with a single element of the rogue Weave force.

 "The problem is at the receiving end, Great Marshal. It matters not which

 frequency I employ. There is no ac-knowledgment."

 "It fits."

 "What fits, my friend?" Shatenka inquired anxiously.

 "Chin's acting on his own, without orders."

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 The Massood growled softly, his small triangular ears flattening against his

 skull. "That is a very serious as- sumption."           i

 "Grounded, I think, in more than coincidence."

 "Perhaps. But irrelevant should the venture succeed."

 "Truly, as our Hivi friends would say. He's been very clever.'' There was

 grudging admiration in the field mar-shal's voice. "He'll emerge from this

 either a damned hero, or just damned."

 "We cannot reinforce them." Shatenka pointed out.

 ' 'I know. The extent of their advance places us in enough danger as it is. I

 only hope that our opponents are so dazed and confused by Chin's attack that

 none of them take the time to realize how exposed it's rendered us back here.

 "In the meantime, until the situation resolves itself we'll back him every way

 we can and pray his people bring this off. We can forward certain classes of

 supplies by unpi-loted sled. I'll see to that. You deal with any questions from

 Central."

 "I would far rather be on the battlefield." The Massood sniffed pointedly.

 "Your thoughts," muttered Granville acerbieally, "mirror my own." He turned back

 to the O'o'yan tech. "Keep trying to make contact. If you reach anyone—Hu-man,

 Massood, Lepar, regardless of rank or position—I want to know about it. If I'm

 not here, find me. If I'm asleep, wake me. If I'm in the can, beat on the door."

 The O'o'yan inclined its narrow, delicate head. "Un-derstood, Great Marshal."

  

 Any early feelings of uncertainty among the members of the attacking force about

 their chosen course of action van-ished as enemy resistance collapsed under the

 fury of the Human-Massood assault. There was barely enough time to savor each

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 triumph before orders arrived directing the next attack on the enemy's position.

 Certainly there was no time to formulate questions, which was the intent of Chin

 and his collaborators from the beginning.

 The attack gave no sign of faltering. The soldiers of Chin's battle group were

 in superb condition, and even seemed to gain strength with each objective

 attained. Though the initial advantage of surprise had been ex-pended, the

 battle group continued to forge ahead on skill and dedication alone.

 The counterattack gave some members of Chin's staff pause, especially when he

 insisted on sending shock teams and scouts on ahead to probe the enemy's SHQ

 defenses in spite of the fact that the enemy now had to be aware of their

 intentions. But since Chin's predictions had been coming true with edifying

 regularity, pause did not give way to objection. Not that a few concerns would

 have swayed the colonel in any event. There were too many others on the staif

 who fully supported his strategy.

 While Chin's reaction to his accomplishments thus far was less than boisterous,

 some of his personnel were less restrained. Three noncommissioned officers in

 particular made no attempt to hide their feelings. Though exhausted, they had no

 intention of requesting a break, neither for themselves nor their troops. Not

 with the perimeter of the enemy's Sector Headquarters already under attack from

 outlying scouts striking from superfast sliders.

 Take that objective, they knew, and the poofs back at Regional would have no

 choice but to back them with fresh troops. They would have gained too much to

 risk giving back. Enemy influence across the entire southern quarter of the

 Eirrosadian landmass would be broken.

 Things were going so well that Chin had decided to send several squads racing

 around behind the enemy HQ in order to be in position to interdict any attempts

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 at re-inforcement. In an earlier era such strategy might have been carried out

 with aircraft, but with the advent hun-dreds of years before of compact

 computer-guided mis-siles and energy beams capable of knocking anything out of

 the sky, control of the air had become irrelevant to modern warfare. Among the

 clouds there was no place to hide.

 Increasingly tired but increasingly confident, Chin's group continued to

 advance.

  

 Even in moments of direst distress it was in the nature of the Amplitur to

 remain calm, a characteristic which their allies found endlessly reassuring.

 Since the universe had evolved gradually, they were fond of pointing out, it

 similarly stood to reason that there was no need to concede emotion to haste. It

 required an extraordinary series of debilitating circum-stances to reduce an

 Amplitur to agitation.

 While distinctly nonplussing, the current situation failed to qualify.

 "It would seem," commented High-many fold-Leaving, "that our position here has

 changed rapidly from dangerous to precarious."

 "That is unarguably so." Place-bereft-inward favored the speaker with one eye

 while the other swiveled independently on its stalk to study the slowly shifting

 topographical image that floated in the air between them. "An exceptional effort

 will have to be made if we are to stave off serious damage to local

 expectations."

 They would have liked to have conferenced with their col-leagues at Planetary

 Headquarters, but the press of battle and Weave interference techniques had

 rendered that impossible. It was only by chance that they, the only other pair

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 of Am-plitur on Eirrosad, happened to be at the Southern Sector HQ when the

 Weave had launched its blistering and utterly unexpected attack. Both were

 acutely conscious of the demands their allies had subsequently placed upon them

 and deter-mined to resolve the situation to the best of their abilities.

 Unfortunately, the attacking Humans and Massood were disinclined to cooperate.

 Though reluctant to expose themselves to the exigencies of a combat situation,

 the Amplitur had no intention of con-centrating their efforts on securing their

 safety through per-sonal flight. Such an action would have had a devastating

 effect on the morale of their allies. If they were cautious it stemmed from

 understanding of an underlying reality: there were not that many Amplitur in the

 universe and their sur-vival was vital to the advancement of the Purpose. They

 did not run, but, rather, guarded themselves well.

 The Ashregan and Crigolit officers who joined them in the chamber were neither

 calm nor composed. It might even be said that they had passed beyond agitation

 to panic.

 "What are we to do?" The Ashregan spoke without offering so much as a polite

 greeting or casual honorific. The Amplitur understood and said nothing. Most

 other species had not yet begun to come to grips with the va-garies of their

 endocrine systems.

 Besides, desperate circumstances did not permit time for civilized verities.

 One of the Crigolit scuttled forward and employed its forelimbs to unfold a

 collapsing readout. "We have con-cocted a plan." Chitinous digits traced glowing

 lines on the screen. "First we concentrate our forces much as the enemy

 expects."

 High-manyfold-Leaving commented dryly. "I do not see the reinforcement of

 tactical redundancy as extricating us from our present situation."

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 The attempt at sarcasm caught the Crigolit unprepared, but it continued anyway.

 ' 'The intent is to lull the enemy into false expectations of quick victory."

 "Given our present circumstances it will not be neces-sary to lull them," the

 Amplitur murmured.

 A sound akin to rusty whistling and air escaping underwater emerged from behind

 the Crigolit's mouthparts. "I elucidate further, honored Teachers. Here," and

 his digits moved, "we place the special squadron from Cossuut. Fortuitously they

 are among us. Only when the enemy finally attacks in full strength do we exert

 our utmost to hold them back, as the special Ashregan fighters stab into them

 from behind.

 "Under ordinary battle conditions this would seem a futile tactic, but even

 Humans must grow tired from con-tinuous fighting. They are spread out and their

 lines of communication and supply grow longer as they advance. In such a

 situation a small, irresistible force operating be-hind their lines might wreak

 considerable havoc.''

 The two Amplitur consulted, leaving the representatives of their allied races to

 mill about in awkward silence. It was Place-bereft-inward who finally replied.

 "There is considerable risk. If the fighters from Cossuut do not have an impact

 then we will have reduced our de-fensive capabilities and gained nothing in

 return."

 "Then we should concentrate our forces here," chirped one of the assembled

 Crigolit officers.

 "Neither shall we do that." High-many fold-Leaving gestured absently with a

 tentacle. "It is our intention to put up only minimal resistance and abandon

 this place to our voracious enemy.''

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 Many of those among the assembled had thought them-selves beyond shock. They

 were wrong.

 "Honored Teachers, I ask you to reconsider," pleaded the ranking Ashregan. "The

 distance to Planetary Head-quarters' perimeter and the safety it would provide

 is more than five days' travel by fast skid. During that time we would not be

 able to use many of our heavy weapons and could not maintain an adequate

 defensive formation. Fast-moving pursuit could take us apart a little at a

 time."

 "We can defend this installation!" The ranking officer's adjutant was as

 insistent as she was outraged. "Whether the Cossuut group is otherwise employed

 or not. Let the Humans and Massood come. They are effective in the jungle, but

 can they dig a determined defense out of this mountain? Tired and worn as they

 must be, I think not.''

 "Our greatest weakness since Humans have allied themselves with the Weave has

 been our repeated under-estimation of their abilities, in tandem with an

 unpredict-ability which verges on madness." Place-bereft-inward relied on logic

 to convince, though it would have been easier simply to "suggest" the decided

 course of action to those present.

 "As you so bravely state we might well be able to de-fend our position here.

 However, after careful considera-tion of all relevant factors we postulate an

 equal chance of failure. Even odds are no odds at all.

 "If we utilize our full strength to defend, and lose, then this entire region

 falls under the control of the enemies of the Purpose. Gathering Weave strength

 here would threaten our very hold on this world, rendering the security of

 Plan-etary Headquarters itself untenable."

 "Does not retreat allow the enemy to achieve the same goal at little cost?" The

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 bold female Ashregan was unre-pentant. ' 'I fail to see virtue in flight.''

 "I shall elucidate." The Amplitur extended two of the four digits on the end of

 its right tentacle and impacted the drifting topograph. It froze. Colors

 appeared on its surface as High-manyfold-Leaving manipulated heavy air.

 ' 'We will put up minimal resistance before abandoning this installation, but

 neither do we propose complete re-treat."

 "I don't understand," said the ranking Ashregan.

 "The female is half-right. The enemy will be tired, but that does not mean they

 will be weak. We note that Hu-mans have repeatedly demonstrated uncommon

 endurance under stress. It is almost as if they revel in personal suf-fering, as

 though pain and discomfort are required before they can reach great heights.

 According to a captured Hu-man psychologist this 'ennobling angst,' as he called

 it, is endemic to the species and a requirement for its survival and

 advancement. Insane as it sounds it is nonetheless very real. We must try to

 comprehend it if we are to for-mulate successful strategies for defeating

 them.''

 "Your pardon and understanding, honored Teacher," said the Ashregan commander, '

 'but I fail to see how this impacts on our present situation."

 Place-bereft-Inward took up the explanation. "This strange thesis holds that the

 more difficult the situation, the harder Humans fight. It is when everything is

 going their way that they are apparently at their most vulnerable. In order to

 make use of this knowledge we must for now accept this reversal of reason

 without trying to understand it.

 "The Humans are superb fighters, but they are not superbeings, and they have

 their own unique weaknesses. It is through our comprehension and utilization of

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 these vul-nerabilities that they shall be defeated, not by any attempt to impose

 our system of values upon them."

 In the silence that ensued the two Amplitur perceived that their attempt to

 spread enlightenment had produced only bewilderment. "I shall be specific."

 Place-bereft-Inward's words were accompanied by a mental suggestion of badly

 needed reassurance. "The majority of our people will pull out, but not to

 retreat. Some will race toward Planetary Headquarters, giving the arriving enemy

 the im-pression that all are attempting to flee in that direction. It will seem

 the natural thing for us to do. Meanwhile the bulk of our forces will head not

 for the perceived safety of the headquarters perimeter but for the dense hilly

 jungle to the southwest."

 "That places us farther from potential safety or rein-forcement than anywhere

 else," one of the elder Crigolit was unable to forbear from pointing out.

 "Precisely," the Amplitur replied with cool confidence. "It is the last thing

 the enemy would expect of us. From a strategic standpoint it is an almost Human

 move. New problems require equally new and radical solutions.

 "After the enemy has wrested this installation from the modest force which will

 remain to 'defend' it, and after they have begun their pursuit of the group

 which will be sent fleeing northwestward, but before they can consoli-date their

 new conquest, we will counterattack. Not in an attempt to retake our position

 here, which would concen-trate our forces dangerously, but all up and down along

 their line of assault. This time the element of surprise shall be ours."

 "Your pardon, honored Teacher," said the obstreperous female Ashregan officer,

 "but this strikes me as strategy based on hope as much as knowledge. The Humans

 excel at the kind of fragmented combat you propose.''

 "That is so." Both Amplitur agreed readily. "But you forget the Cossuut unit.

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 Surprise and support from the rest of our forces should enable them to make a

 much greater impact than they would be able to if attacking on their own.

 Remember also that our assailants are not all Hu-mans. According to the reports

 there are Massood and noncombative species in the attacking force as well. If

 these can be thrown into confusion or panic, it will greatly complicate the

 Humans' ability to fight, since they have come too far to quickly evacuate

 support personnel."

 "And our fighters will be fresh and rested," High-manyfold-Leaving pointed out.

 "That counts for much."

 While there was some continuing discussion both Am-plitur impatiently suggested

 that their allies put any re-maining objections aside in the interests of speed,

 concurring that insufficient time remained for the luxury of independent debate.

 So it was not surprising when the assembled officers declared in a body, "We

 accept the plan of the Teachers."

 "We feel wellness at your decision." The Amplitur re-plied simultaneously,

 gratified by the unanimous accep-tance of the foregone conclusion.

 Chapter Sixteen

  

 Hidden deep within difficult, highly vegetated terrain, the forces which had

 withdrawn in hasty but orderly fashion from the interior of the mountain

 fortress were barely able to monitor the Weave attack when it finally arrived.

 Those limited Ashregan, Crigolit, and allied troops who had been left behind to

 mount a semblance of a defense fought long and hard before they were overwhelmed

 by the ferocity of the assault, bravely sacrificing themselves in the cause of

 the Purpose. The Amplitur could not have hoped for better results.

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 Holding alertly at their assigned position, Ranji's group was aware of what was

 taking place only through infre-quent and cautious internal communications. They

 were too far away to hear the rumbling explosions which issued with pernicious

 regularity from the interior of the tabletop mountain as its conquerors

 obliterated stores, equipment, and defenders with equal glee.

 Soon squads of attackers were regrouping atop the jungle-clad butte. Espying

 fleeing enemy, small teams shot off in pursuit, intent upon running down and

 destroying every potential survivor before they could reach the distant safety

 of their planetary headquarters.

 Ranji considered the Ashregan, Crigolit, and others who had accepted death in

 the service of a feint. It frightened him to know that there was a time when he

 might have done so with equal enthusiasm.

 Now all he saw was the extinction of brave individuals whose deaths in no way

 enriched the universe. There was something inherently obscene in the notion of

 dying for a strategic advantage. For example, from what he had seen Humans who

 would readily sacrifice themselves in defense of their world or even a friend

 were much less likely to do so to preserve an abstraction.

 Like the Purpose, he told himself.

 He was finding it increasingly difficult to believe in much of anything.

 The Amplitur, of course, did not readily sacrifice them- selves for the cause.

 Though it was ostensibly because of their limited numbers, Ranji more and more

 had come to think of this as a convenient rationalization. The notion stuck in

 his conviction and would not be moved.

 For reasons unknown, swept up in events he could not control in that uneasy time

 and place, he found himself thinking frequently of the Lepar.

 Then the word was passed that it was time to strike, and' his only thoughts were

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 for survival.

 Seemingly from behind every tree and rocky pinnacle the squads of Ashregan and

 Crigolit slammed into the con-querors of the mountain, most of whom were for the

 first time in several days just starting to relax. Their timing could not have

 been better had prognostication been other than a prehistoric fancy.

 Innumerable firefights erupted in the terrain between the mountain and

 south-flowing rivers, consuming frantic members of varying species with inchoate

 impartiality. Humans and Massood frantically rushed to gather wits and weapons

 with which to defend them selves.

 So furiously did they strike back that in places the coun-terattack was stopped

 cold, the attackers annihilated de-spite the advantage of surprise. Elsewhere it

 was Humans and Massood who were devastated, unable to mount an adequate defense

 or flee to safety.

 Ranji fought to defend himself and, surreptitiously, his brother. It troubled

 him that he, likely Human himself, was compelled by circumstance to kill other

 Humans. Letting the natural killing reflex take over allowed him to ignore his

 initial inhibitions. This surprised him when it should not have. After all,

 Humans had been exterminat-ing each other without compunction for thousands of

 years.

 Saguio, Soratii-eev, Birachii, and the others charged into combat armored with

 the blissful balm of ignorance, un-aware they had been called upon to slaughter

 their own kind, a task they executed with unalloyed vigor.

 As for Ranji, under the pretext of essaying strategy he strove to avoid as much

 actual combat as possible. Cog-nizant of his recent experiences, those operating

 under his command considered his reticence prudent. He did man-age to fire his

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 weapon frequently, with an inaccuracy those who happened to be momentarily

 caught in his sights found laudable. Innocent succulents and trees suffered the

 consequences of his anguish.

 Spread out over a huge section of swampy terrain, the conflagration would have

 struck an onlooker as natural rather than artificial in origin, as if some

 immense blaze had suddenly erupted in the heart of the tabletop mountain and

 spread to the surrounding forest. Indistinguishable as to source, plumes of

 smoke rose from burning vegetation, from burning machines, from burning bodies.

 Amid heat and smoke and dense vegetation it was dif-ficult for Ranji to tell

 Crigolit from Ashregan, Ashregan from Massood, Humans from his friends. Only

 differing armor and equipment types offered ready means for iden-tification. One

 had to think fast and shoot faster if one expected to survive. He sought solace

 in delay and tried not to think.

 By keeping his personal floater as close as possible to the ground he managed to

 avoid the bulk of aerial combat. It was while working his way slowly through a

 grove of massive, heavily buttressed trees that he came upon the two corpses.

 They were Human, one of each gender. Great black-ened gaps showed in their light

 field armor where energy weapons had struck home. Their own rifles lay nearby,

 punctuation marks bestriding lost lives. The right side of the man's skull was

 missing. Though cauterization was extensive Ranji could still see part of the

 brain, drying in the air like a wrinkled gray melon. The man lay crumpled on his

 side, his companion on her back. Her skin was pale, and he was very glad she did

 not much remind him of the woman he had known on Omaphil.

 This close to the mountain the soil was more than firm enough to support his

 floater. He landed in hopes of learn-ing what he could.

 Close inspection of the corpses told him little he did not already know. He bent

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 over the man. If he peered hard enough into the gaping cranial cavity, would he

 be able to see a small bundle of nerves, the nodule that Hivistahm and Human

 surgeons had assured him was alien to every unaltered Human mind? Since he

 sensed he would not his examination was cursory at best.

 Rising, he resumed his seat on the floater and sent it forward, angling slowly

 through the grove. Every channel of his communicator was alive with orders and

 exchanges. Around him the jungle boomed and hissed like a gigantic reptile

 caught in the throes of violent death. He did not look back.

 There was nothing he could do. If he tried to surrender to the opposition under

 battlefield conditions he would likely be shot on sight. The bulky, securely

 attached cephaloprostheses which had restored his Ashregan appear-ance could not

 be removed without the aid of a fully equipped surgery.

 Thoughts of surrender passed quickly. That was not why he had returned to his

 friends.

 He cruised slowly through environs becoming unnatural. Repeated clarion calls

 over his communicator heralded successive triumphs for the Purpose. Dull

 instinct dragged him along while his field equipment kept him alive, armor-shell

 protecting epidermal shell concealing . . . what?

 Hammered at multiple points along their line of ad-vance, the fatigued attackers

 were gradually cut into smaller and smaller groups. Expectations of glory gave

 way to concern for survival. Without orders, without direction, they began to

 retreat, fleeing back toward the meandering river they had so exultantly crossed

 the day before. Sup-plies from Granville and Shatenka's joint command did not

 even have the chance to arrive before the retreat began, and could not in any

 event have prevented the disaster.

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 The faithful of the Purpose took many prisoners that day. When it became clear

 that the assault had been turned, the Amplitur sent a powerful combined

 battlegroup in pur-suit of the survivors. Many of Ranji's friends participated.

 They swept beyond the rivers and overran the forward Weave firebase from which

 the attack had been mounted, taking control of its minimally manned weapons

 systems and natural defenses and bringing a great swath of previ-ously

 Weave-controlled territory under Amplitur control. The opportunities for rescue

 of those surviving Humans and Massood who had been scattered throughout the

 end-less jungle were reduced from modest to nil. Indeed, Granville was forced to

 request reinforcements simply to hold his own position.

 Carson, Moreno, and Selinsing did not even have the consolation of knowing that

 their deaths had contributed to a gallant failure. It was an ignominious rout.

 Caught between impenetrable canopy and a fast-moving Crigolit floater,

 Selinsing's slider disintegrated under a hail of en-emy fife. Carson was shot

 down over the main river, while Moreno died trying to escape the captured

 fortress, which was rapidly turned into a sandstone tomb by counterat-tacking

 Ashregan and their backups.

 Many who were not killed fighting went down in the jungle on disabled vehicles,

 like so many exhausted birds unable to complete an especially difficult

 migration. Some were rescued by daring outfliers who ignored Granville's orders

 to stand clear. Others were caught and slain or cap-tured by the pursuing enemy.

 Colonel Nehemiah Chin might have escaped to face court-martial. Instead he chose

 to use the concentrated firepower of his command sled to cover the retreat of

 less heavily armed regular troops. Those who escaped might live again to fight

 another day, whereas his military career was already finished.

 The great gamble had not paid off. Having acquired a debt he knew he could not

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 pay, he saw no reason to return.

 It was most ironic because everything he and his co-conspirators had hoped for

 had come to pass. They simply had not credited the enemy with the wherewithal to

 mount an effective response, an oversight which he spent much of the time

 remaining to him regretting.

 Death brought peace to Colonel Chin, but not content-ment.

 For the Weave forces on Eirrosad the debacle was total. Plans for pressing the

 enemy on other fronts were aban-doned as reinforcements were hurriedly rushed to

 defend what remained of Granville's shrunken sector. Overall strategy suffered a

 severe and embarrassing retrenchment. Chin's Catastrophe, as it came to be

 known, forced Weave tacticians to abandon an optimistic status quo in favor of a

 policy of anxious defense. Meanwhile, the dead com-mander's dour superiors

 reaped a harvest of recrimina-tions.

 It was as serious a battlefield defeat as Weave forces had suffered in some

 time. The effects were felt beyond Eir-rosad, reverberating throughout the chain

 of command all the way up to the Grand Military Council itself.

 As for the Amplitur, they did not throw up their tenta-cles in triumph and husk

 hosannas to the Purpose. It was not in their nature to celebrate death, even

 that of those who would destroy them. Revelry was left to the Crigolit and

 Ashregan, the Molitar and Mazvec. The Amplitur would celebrate only when the

 Purpose was fulfilled, be it a hundred years in the future, a thousand, an eon.

 That did not mean they did not find gratification in the accomplishment.

 For their brilliant tactical maneuver High-manyfold-Leaving and

 Place-bereft-Inward received quiet praise and new assignments. Of rest there

 would be none. There would be plenty of time for the Amplitur to rest once the

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 Purpose had been fulfilled. Until that far distant day there was still too much

 for them to do and too few of them to do it.

 The news from Eirrosad had depressed everyone at Weave Command on Omaphil.

 Conversation and spirits alike were muted. Even the normally jocose S'van were

 subdued.

 Two Humans, a pair of Massood, and three S'van clus-tered in a high-ceilinged

 chamber afire with images of suns and ships. Rising and descending on invisible

 supports, they studied and analyzed the three-dimensional represen-tation of

 their particular quadrant of the galaxy, not so much reading the map as voyaging

 through it.

 One of the S'van waved the small wandlike device he carried. Representations of

 starships swirled and reposi-tioned themselves according to his directions. In

 the en-closed chamber his translator boomed.

 "We've already overextended ourselves in our attempt to take Eirrosad. It

 weakens our inner spatial defenses and exposes us along this entire line. I say

 it's time to consider pulling back. A strategic retrenchment does not a retreat

 make."

 "We cannot," argued a Massood floating high above him. "If we give up Eirrosad,

 it will make it extremely hard to advance into the next important enemy sector .

 . . here." Her wand stirred galactic soup.

 "That's true. Our next big thrust will be made much easier . . .if we can hold

 Eirrosad," another of the S'van said pointedly.

 "Would you concede the Amplitur the same sort of, ad-vantage we seek for

 ourselves?" she riposted. "There are no other habitable worlds in its immediate

 vicinity.''

 "It's premature to speak of concessions." One of the Human officers descended to

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 the same level as the S'van. "Our situation on Eirrosad's been damaged but not

 devastated. We may not be in a position to mount any attacks for a while, but I

 think we can hold on to what we have.''

 "I don't doubt that." The S'van put both hands behind his back, thrusting his

 thick beard forward. ' 'My concern is that by continuing to support forces on

 Eirrosad we weaken ourselves elsewhere. It's well known that Humans dislike

 looking over their shoulders, lest they see some-thing that displeases them. In

 warfare ignorance is not bliss; it's lethal stupidity."

 "Look," said the other Human sharply, "I'll grant that you guys are brilliant

 tacticians, but you're as cautious as any of the species who don't carry guns.

 If it wasn't for us and the Massood, you wouldn't advance anywhere. You'd just

 sit around on your hairy butts waiting for the Amplitur to hit you at their

 leisure."

 As Human and S'van glared at each other from per-spectives that differed as much

 as their respective heights, one of the Massood hastened to change the subject.

 "On a related matter, it seems clear that the decision to return the altered

 Human-Ashregan to his friends was a mistake."

 "We can't be certain of that yet." The Human who replied sounded slightly

 defensive.

 The more belligerent of the two S'van grinned. "Igno-rance in this case is

 embarrassing."

 The senior S'van had yet to say anything. It was a mar-vel to him that

 individual members of the contentious species of the Weave could cooperate long

 enough to have a discussion, much less fight an interstellar war. If the

 Amplitur could but see how truly fragile was the structure of the Weave, how

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 fractious and argumentative its mem-bers, they would surely press their

 millennia-old assault even harder.

 "That incident is history," the S'van commented. "Not every experiment produces

 the results one hopes for. Time spent on recriminations is divisive and

 wasteful."

 "We don't know what the subject's present condition is.

 Just because he hasn't contacted us yet doesn't mean he's never going to." It

 was the Human's turn to be defensive.

 "It's perfectly understandable that you stretch reason out of compassion for one

 of your own. Had S'van been the subjects of genetic manipulation by the Amplitur

 we would be equally concerned."

 As was typical of his kind, the Human refused to be swayed by mere logic. "We

 don't know for certain that his Ashregan conditioning has reasserted itself. We

 don't know for a fact that the work our people did with him here on Omaphil was

 unsuccessful." He hesitated. "Majority opinion holds that he's probably dead,

 because he was returned to the region where our recent losses occurred. Prior to

 our reversal of fortunes there, enemy casualties are known to have been heavy.

 It's reasonable to assume he was among them. Until then he may very well have

 been trying to decondition his colleagues, which was his avowed intention in

 returning."

 "Probably we will never know," said the other Massood.

 "Truly I would like to."

 Everyone looked up as a new figure drifted in to join them. Access to the map

 chamber while conferencing was in progress was supposedly forbidden, but

 First-of-Surgery had been granted clearances usually denied even to senior

 officers.

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 The darkling enclosure was alien to him, so very differ-ent from his normal

 brightly lit surroundings. Further-more, it was occupied by intimidating Humans

 and Massood. He instinctively stood close to the S'van.

 "I know you." The younger Human officer frowned slightly in remembrance. "You

 oversaw the whole exper-iment."

 "As you truly remember, you may also recall that I most strenuously argued

 against the unfortunate subject Ranji-aar to his friends returning, but was by

 the military overruled." He met and held the Human's stare, some-thing none but

 a Turlog could manage for long.

 "At the time we felt we had no choice," said the other Human.

 First-of-Surgery eyed him frostily. "Of course you a choice had. You could to

 myself and other specialists have listened. But your actions were, from what I

 have seen and studied, of military thinking typical. You around you gather

 experts and analysts. Not to their opinions listen to, but to an intellectual

 blanket create to from criticism shield yourselves. Behind this barrier you

 carry on as before, deluded that you of the help you have acquired made use. Now

 you have for this shortsightedness on Eirrosad paid the price."

 "Now just a minute," said the other Human. "Are you suggesting that the return

 of this individual to his former friends and associates had something to do with

 our recent defeat on that world?"

 "I suggest nothing. I infer nothing. It is only that when the unexpected itself

 repeats, is piqued my interest in re-lational hypotheses."

 "It has been determined that the Eirrosad disaster was the fault of a single

 renegade Human colonel who delib-erately excluded from his decision-making

 process all tac-tical advice except that which arose from a select inner

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 circle." The other Human spoke with assurance.

 "An all too common fault." The Human turned sharply on the S'van who'd made the

 comment, but could discern nothing in the way of expression behind an

 all-obscuring black beard.

 "It distresses me to bad news bring atop bad news." First-of-Surgery clicked his

 teeth softly. "Facts have an awkward way of lives of their own assuming."

 "Go ahead," the nearest Human grumbled. "We've heard little else these past few

 days. A little more won't make any difference." The surgeon's translator

 rendered the primate's guttural barkings into barbaric but compre-hensible

 Hivistahm. This maceration of his elegant lan-guage did not irritate him. As a

 physician he had a better understanding than most of Human cultural failings.

 "Please my inadequate words excuse, but it has my ex-perience been that visuals

 time as well as confusion save."

 Removing a control wand not unlike those in the pos-session of his military

 colleagues, he adjusted it while waving at the empty space between them. Several

 star sys-tems were rudely swept aside, to be replaced by the float-ing image of

 a Human skull. As he spoke, sections exploded and expanded to reveal hidden

 secrets.

 "You all are or should by now be conversant with the recent studies which were

 conducted on this world on one of the genetically altered Humans who were

 preborn ab-ducted by the Amplitur. It was my privilege in charge of those

 studies to be." The wand moved.

 "Before the individual in question was at his request returned to Eirrosad an

 operation was carried out in which the Amplitur-induced alteration to his brain

 was surgically isolated from the rest of his nervous system, thereby ne-gating

 its influence." Slitted pupils monitored Humans and Massood for reaction.

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 "I remind you that my staff and I considered this indi-vidual's release and

 return premature."

 "That's old news, not bad news," commented the near-est Human.

 "Truly." The surgeon's tone was sharp. "Under natural conditions Human neural

 tissue rarely regenerates. Mod-ern Hivistahm and O'o'yan technology enables us

 such regrowth artificially to induce, thereby rendering the Hu-man physiologic

 condition known historically as 'paraly-sis' a medical anachronism.

 "Prior to the conclusion of surgery on the individual in question the

 Amplitur-induced neural nodule within his brain was biopsied. A computer

 projection on recent anal-ysis based a potential capacity for self-regeneration

 of this organ suggests." As he spoke, animated neurons reas-serted themselves

 within the immensely magnified image rotating before them.

 "This is a prognostication only," observed the male Massood. "The fact that such

 growth can occur does not mean that it will, or that the Amplitur organ will

 success-fully reconnect itself to the appropriate portions of the individual's

 brain."

 "Such rapid cellular growth could even be carcino-genic,'/' pointed out one of

 the S'van in uncharacteristically humorless fashion.

 "That is not an impossible scenario," First-of-Surgery admitted. "In that event

 the individual might die before the condition could be detected and treated.

 Conversely, if successful regrowth and reconnection were to occur, he might

 despite all our arduous work with him here, under the sway of the Amplitur again

 find himself. Or the clash of what he knows with what he feels might well

 unbalance him mentally."

 "Then all our work here was for naught," said another S'van.

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 "Not true. We learned much of importance." With a wave of the surgeon's wand the

 magnified bits of Human brain and neural tissue vanished. "We are certain in the

 future others modified by the Amplitur to encounter. Per-haps by then we will

 have how permanently to inhibit the Amplitur organ from regenerating

 discovered." To the en-suing silence he added a note of hope.

 "As has pointed out been, this a prognostication only is." Double eyelids

 blinked. "Such regrowth may not take place, or if it does neural reconnection

 may not recur, nor may there be any harm to the individual. This but one of many

 possible physiologic scenarios is."

 "You assign the worst case a high priority, though, or you wouldn't have

 interrupted this conference to tell us about it."

 First-of-Surgery regarded the scaleless warrior Human. An ineffable sadness

 colored his laconic response. "Truly."

 The other Human nodded slowly as he spoke. "What we really need to do is find

 the world where the Amplitur are doing the actual modifications on Human infants

 and embryos and blow the goddamned place all the way back to the First Cause."

 First-of-Surgery shivered slightly at the Human's unbri-dled ferocity. If not

 for the need to recruit species capable of combating the advance of the

 Amplitur, he might not have been above consideration of a little genetic

 engineer-ing himself. Though from the beginning he had concealed his feelings

 well, the whole business had unnerved him more than he would have cared to

 admit.

 One thing his studies had led him to ponder was if a "civilized Human" might not

 be a contradiction in terms, a biological impossibility. He was glad he would

 not be around to find out, for even the most optimistic scenario had the war

 against the Amplitur continuing far beyond the end of his projected lifespan.

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 Even so, his sleep was troubled.

 Chapter Seventeen

  

 As was traditional, victory celebrations were kept to a minimum. However,

 Military Command decided that its triumphant but exhausted soldiers deserved not

 merely a rest, but that greatest of all rewards for those who serve in combat: a

 visit home.

 Had Ranji been given the option he would have chosen to stay on Eirrosad. His

 genuine hesitancy was, however, interpreted as modesty, and together with his

 friends he was shipped back to peaceful Cossuut. His subtle hints that he be

 allowed to remain behind were swamped in the flush of congratulations. Realizing

 that excessive demurral on his part would only eventually attract unwanted

 atten-tion, he had no choice but to accept the enforced vacation.

 As a Unifer much attention was focused on him. When-ever possible he tried to

 have his subordinates answer the innumerable questions that were put to the

 group, with the result that he became more than ever an object of curiosity and

 interest. In seeking obscurity he found only fame, or at least fame as it was

 known within the homogenized ethical orbit presided over by the Amplitur.

 Though the cephalopodians had no need of such in-tangibles themselves, they

 recognized the importance of maintaining good morale among allied races and did

 their best, when circumstances were appropriate, to encourage it. Public feting

 of the victorious was useful. Modest ad-ulation was not discouraged. As for the

 Amplitur themselves, they ascribed glory to an abstract rather than to

 individuals.

 Saguio proudly appointed himself guardian of his broth-er's solitude, shielding

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 him from the queries and attentions of the curious. I wonder if he would be so

 zealous in my defense, Ranji mused in the privacy of his apartment, if he knew

 how hard I fought recently to avoid combat. But he was glad of the privacy.

 His self-imposed isolation during the voyage back to Cossuut was interpreted as

 introspection and suitably re-spected. After a while even the most persistent

 left him in peace, allowing Saguio to relax his vigil.

 Ranji used the time to try and prepare himself for the inevitable forthcoming

 confrontations. Despite his best ef-forts, however, he was unprepared for the

 storm of emo-tions that tore through him when he was greeted at the shuttle

 disembarkation point by his joyful parents. He was able to maintain control only

 by lavishing his attention on his little sister, Cynsa, of whose genetic makeup

 he was relatively certain. As certain as he could be of his own, he reminded

 himself.

 "Good to have you home, firstborn." As a sign of pa-ternal Ashregan affection

 his father was rubbing Ranji be-tween the shoulder blades.

 "Yes, son. We worried, and missed."

 Both his mother's warmth and his father's radiant pride struck Ranji as so

 genuine that for a moment he nearly forgot everything that had happened to him

 in the previous months. Once more solid reality dissolved into an unset-tling

 speculative mist. Once again his identity fled the realm of verifiable knowledge

 for distant, uncertain bio-logical shores.

 He found he could not look long in his parents' direc-tion. Not while the great

 question remained unresolved. Were they innocents or collaborators, empathetic

 dupes or cold-blooded agents of the Amplitur? How much of what they did and said

 was of their own volition and how much at the prompting of Amplitur

 "suggestion"? Was their         "love" for him and his siblings anything other

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 than the consequence of "careful calculation? Would he ever know?

 Modern technology could pinpoint the location and di-mensions of black holes and

 quasars, antimatter accretions and Underspace ... but where was love? How did he

 find it? By intuition, research, simple triangulation, what?

 Cynsa's hugs and laughter provoked no such introspec-tive agonies. At the

 heart-wrenchingly familiar family compound he played with her incessantly,

 luxuriating in her innocence and ignorance. She didn't care who or what she was,

 only that her beloved elder brother was home for a while.

 But she was growing, developing the same acute re-flexes and lanky form as her

 brothers. Ranji knew that her innocence could not be preserved indefinitely, any

 more than had his own.

 He'd been home more than a month when the authorities asked him to speak at the

 commencement exercises for the next group of graduating fighters. It was

 impossible for him to refuse.

 Now he looked out across a sea of young Ashregan faces. Twice as many as in his

 original group bore the telltale marks of Amplitur genetic manipulation. He

 wanted to cry out to them, to hold each and every one close while explicating

 the appalling details of alien du-plicity. Their upturned gazes were focused on

 him, eager and expectant. The Amplitur had stolen their birthright and crippled

 their capacity for independent thought. To stand there on the podium and look

 down at them was almost more than he could bear.

 As his silence persisted murmurs arose from the other speakers and dignitaries

 seated behind him. His trauma, those in the know explained knowledgeably. It

 will pass.

 He forced his lips to move and sensed sounds emerging from his throat, but it

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 was as if another person was speak-ing. He, Ranji-aar, was completely detached.

 The cool, robotic presentation garnered more approval from the captive audience

 than it deserved. Any who found it disap-pointing were too polite to voice their

 opinions.

 Only recently he had been as young as those now raptly and unquestioningly

 listening to him. He could pity, but not condemn. The great lie of their

 condition was not of their choice.

 He had returned to seek truth and dispel lies. Now he saw that this was neither

 the time nor place to try and depose something half so elusive. They would

 surely lock him up or worse, seek the advice of an Amplitur "spe-cialist." In

 the confusion that would invariably result, he would be quietly disappeared.

 Though the knowledge he carried threatened to choke him, somehow he made it to

 the end of his speech, recit-ing the prepared text as mechanically as any

 artificial di-aphragm. The prophylactic distance between himself and his

 audience vanished when he was asked to answer a few questions.

 Had he been blind he still could have told the pure Ashregan in the audience

 from the modified Humans by the nature and emphasis of their queries. His

 perception had been altered by experience and revelation. Never again would he

 mistake an Ashregan for a Human or vice versa. He had become irrevocably attuned

 to the differences.

 He was careful to reply as an Ashregan, muting the Humanity he had acquired on

 Omaphil. The audience hall would be a bad place in which to arouse suspicions.

 It was not without some relief that he allowed himself to slip back into the

 familiar mannerisms of his childhood, to be nothing more than a young warrior,

 even a young hero, surrounded by friends and relations.

 Afterward it was impossible to forget the many faces that came up to

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 congratulate or greet him personally, im-possible not to see. beyond shining

 eyes and obscenely swollen cheek ridges to the bastardized DNA beyond. Bur-ied

 within those coils, at least, was the real truth.

 Raised as Ashregan, they would be sent to slay Hu-mans. Returned to Humanity,

 they would exert twice the effort to kill the Ashregan who had betrayed them

 before they were born. That, too, was truth, one he didn't much care for. Even

 at his young age he had learned that it was not in the nature of truth to be

 likable.

 Only the fact that confusion nearly outweighed his anger enabled him to keep his

 emotions in check. While he was certain he could no longer be what he had been,

 neither did he yet know if he was truly capable of being what he was. Whether

 out in public or at home with his family he was careful of what he said and how

 he acted lest it occur to someone that he might be acting "Human."

 As it mounted, the fury he felt only served to further confirm his Humanity.

 New graduates not only replaced his battlegroup's few losses but nearly doubled

 it in strength. He and his fellow Unifers received this statistic and more

 during a meeting with senior Ashregan officials. In vain he searched the

 assembled for the revered figure of his teacher Kouuad. That was an individual

 he would very much like to have questioned. How much did he know? How ignorant

 had the venerable, fatherly Kouuad been of his students' bio-logical history?

 Perhaps, Ranji thought, he was not present precisely because he was privy to

 such knowledge.

 Soratii-eev nudged him. They were being addressed by an officer of considerable

 reputation and rank.

 "You have rested long enough. The Purpose needs again what only you can give.

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 "Your sorties on Eirrosad and Koba have been but pre-liminaries for what is to

 come, tests in which you and your troops have succeeded admirably. Having

 accomplished all that was hoped for you, it is time for you to lead a historic

 assault against the enemies of reason." Ranji and his friends shuffled

 expectantly in their seats.

 "What's our target this time?" asked Cossinza-iiv from the corner.

 The speaker yielded the podium to another officer. "Eirrosad and Koba are

 disputed worlds. It is in such places that the forces of the Purpose and those

 of the Weave have contested for supremacy for the past hundred years." He paused

 for emphasis. "Thanks to your recent accom-plishments the decision has been made

 at the highest lev-els to carry the attack directly to the enemy in a manner not

 attempted for some time."

 Producing a wand, he used it to generate the image of an alien star system,

 complete to moons and asteroid belt. An occasional comet sped through the

 three-dimensiona construction to vanish in odd comers of the room. The attentive

 listeners ignored such cosmic distractions.

 Sharpening focus, the speaker drew their attention to the fourth world out from

 the slightly pale sun. It exhibited the familiar single large landmass haloed by

 clouds and ocean.

 "This is Ulaluable." Since his translator was not pro-grammed to react to proper

 names the officer had to pro-nounce it slowly for his audience. "Not a large

 world nor one particularly rich in natural resources, though it has its share.

 It occupies an important position beyond what the Weave would refer to as its

 frontline, if such archaisms had any meaning in space." As he manipulated the

 wand controls illuminated portions of the projection punctuated his speech.

 "It possesses fewer than the usual complement of is-lands, a benign climate,

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 many highlands, and modest mountain ranges. There are highly productive

 farmlands. Since it was first settled Ulaluable has been a significant

 contributor to the enemy resistance. Naturally it is well defended." Pinpoints

 of light sprang to life on the plane-tary surface.

 Birachii squinted at the projection. "Mighty extensive troop distribution for a

 contested world. Where are our forces concentrated? In the opposite hemisphere?"

 The officer caused the globe projection to rotate a hun-dred and eighty degrees.

 The scattering of indicator lights on the other side of the landmass was not

 significantly different from what they had already observed.

 "Ulaluable is not a contested world." Only after the resultant buzz of startled

 conversation began to fade did he add, "It is in fact a highly developed,

 thoroughly civ-ilized world, long ago settled and largely colonized by Wais,

 though there is also a substantial minority Hivistahm population."

 "Which means there's no way we can carry out a land-ing there." Cossinza

 gestured at the rotating globe. "The defenses of a settled world would cut us to

 bits as soon as we touched down."

 The officer turned to her. "Though Ulaluable is highly developed, its largely

 agricultural nature and intermittent mountainous topography offer unpopulated

 expanses where a determined landing force might successfully establish itself

 before the planetary defenses could muster a reac-tion. Certainly the population

 does not expect an attack."

 "With good reason," Soratii noted. "Who makes up the defending garrison?"

 "It is largely Massood, with the usual Hivistahm tech-nical support teams. There

 are some Humans present but according to the best available intelligence their

 numbers are small." The speaker regarded his audience earnestly.

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 "Much time has been devoted to the gathering of req-uisite intelligence. There

 are many reasons besides its to-pography why Ulaluable lends itself to

 unexpected attack. Most of its major power facilities lie exposed in the

 foot-hills and mountains. Several important communications centers have been

 constructed nearby. If these could" be overrun before the defenders could bring

 reinforcements to bear, it would give an invading force not only a tactical

 advantage but considerable leverage in any subsequent ne-gotiations.

 "One reason why something like this has not previously been attempted is because

 the usual Ashregan-Crigolit-led strike force could not advance from objective to

 objective quickly enough to make it viable. The enemy's confidence springs from

 identical knowledge. Your special teams have demonstrated the ability to attack

 with speed. With your

 people in the vanguard our tacticians believe a successful invasion of Ulaluable

 can be carried out. The local Wais population is of course incapable of offering

 any resistance." He hesitated.         

 “I do not think I need speak of the effect such a defeat would have on Weave

 morale."           

 The initial speaker regarded them solemnly. ' 'If more of your kind were

 available we would consider attacking an even more important enemy world.

 Ulaluable was cho sen specifically because of its perceived vulnerabilities. We

 value you all greatly and have no intention of sacrificing you on behalf of a

 gesture.           

 ' 'Because of the unique nature of this expedition participation is not

 compulsory. No opprobrium will attach to any who choose demurral." Silence

 greeted his words. Wishing badly to say a great deal, Ranji could only keep

 still. The elder officer gestured approvingly. "I believed Iand hoped that would

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 be your response."        

 His slightly junior colleague surveyed his expectant audience. "You will have

 the best backup available. Experienced Ashregan, Crigolit, and Mazvec troops

 drawn from ' other theaters of conflict will fully support your strikes. We are

 depending on you to provide speed and decisive-ness, not overwhelming firepower.

 ' 'If it appears that despite all our careful planning the gambit is doomed to

 failure, you will be brought out im-mediately, irrespective of risk to

 evacuating personnel."

 "Even if it means losing a ship," added the senior of-ficer. "The High Command

 holds your troops in that much regard."

 "We don't think you will fail." Certainly, Ranji thought, both speakers sounded

 confident. "If we did, this venture would not have reached the planning stage,

 much less advanced this far beyond it."

 Like his companions, the proposal left Ranji somewhat dazed. It was so

 unexpected because it was utterly unlike the strategy of patient attrition the

 Amplitur had favored for a thousand years. They were adapting to new

 circumstances with a speed that left him breathless. How the Weave would react

 to such tactics remained to be seen.

 He and his kind, he knew, were to constitute the cen-terpiece of such

 innovations.

 The senior officer broke the ensuing silence. "Not in-cidentally, you are all

 being promoted. Every one of you, every member of your respective groups. Such

 honor is not unprecedented, but it is unusual. The High Command takes pride in

 you and your accomplishments." He sought out a particular individual.

 "You, Ranji-aar, are hereby raised to Field Unifer."

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 Cossinza gasped softly. Soratii sat motionless. If he was upset at being jumped

 in rank he did not show it. Ranji didn't think it would bother him. Since the

 days of the trials they had become good friends, respectful of each other's

 abilities and opinions.

 To be given command was the last thing he wanted, yet to refuse the honor was

 unthinkable. Doing so would ex-pose him to relentless scrutiny. From now on it

 would be impossible for him to hang back and hide on the battle-field. Not only

 would he be unable to avoid the killing, he would be forced to direct it.

 At least, he told himself, as commanding officer he would better be able to

 insure Saguio's safety. Aware that everyone was expecting some sort of response

 from him he said, "When are we to depart?"

 "Preparations require another five days," the officer told him. "That should

 give everyone ample time to prepare, and to spend more time with mates and

 offspring. Rest, delight, and immerse yourselves in the Purpose."

 The meeting was at an end.

  

 "You will take care of yourself."

 His father stood alongside him in the back of the family compound as together

 they contemplated the sunset. Ranji wanted to scream questions and accusations.

 Instead he stood silently, trying to sort the emotions that gnawed at his

 insides.

 "And you will look after your brother."

 Ranji heard himself replying. "Yes, Father."

 Grainfields stretched from the rear of the residential square to a bilious

 orange horizon. This time of year they lay fallow, their unrelenting flatness

 interrupted only by the stark silhouette of an isolated, twisted kekuna tree.

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 As the dorsal arc of Cossuut's sun sank out of sight, the' two turned to walk

 back to the house. "You know, Ranji, you've been acting rather strange since

 you've been home."

 "Have I?" Clods of recently turned earth gave him something to focus on. Some he

 kicked to bits, others he spared. As he would soon be expected to do with

 friends in battle.

 "Your mother and I don't understand. Are you sure you're all right?"

 His father's concern proved nothing one way or the other, Ranji knew. Once again

 he was made aware of the damning ignorance that jailed his spirit. Mind-dupe or

 cal-culating agent? A glance at the old man proved unenlight-ening as ever.

 "I'm sorry if I strike you as unnaturally introspective,

 Father. You should know that combat tends to dull the

 senses."           

 "No; there's something else."

 Halting, Ranji forced a narrow Ashregan smile. "I'll take care of myself, and

 Saguio as well. Rest assured on that." There at least was a promise he could

 make with assurance.

 It wouldn't do to leave his father questioning. The old man might seek answers

 from local officials or, worse, from the Amplitur stationed on Cossuut.

 Embarrassing queries might find their way back to him, even on distant

 Ulaluable. He knew that only continued caution would preserve his secret.

 Leave-taking gave him no difficulty until it came time to say good-bye to his

 sister. That guileless innocent cried as she hugged him close. He could feel the

 growing strength in her, strength the Amplitur intended to put to dreadful

 misuse, and somewhat to his surprise he found that he was crying, too. The

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 outpouring of emotion must have eased his father's concerns, because the old man

 made his farewells quickly, propounding no more unanswerable questions.

 Sensing that it was for the last time, Ranji looked back as the transport

 vehicle carried him and Saguio away from the house, away from the grainfields in

 which he'd played as a youth, away from the residential complex and the only

 home he'd ever known.

 Because in that final moment he had to make a decision in order to keep his

 sanity, he'd decided that his parents were innocent, as captive of Amplitur

 machination as he and his brother. He reached that conclusion on the basis of

 more than twenty years of love and affection, under-standing and nurturance. His

 mother and father had to be ignorant of the biological truth because every

 Ashregan lived in fear of the terrible, dreaded Human beings. Surely no amount

 of Amplitur suggestion could have so thor-oughly overcome that deep-seated

 terror for such an ex-tended period of time. Yes, surely they were dupes, tools

 of the Amplitur, as innocent in their own way as his baby sister. They had to be

 because he wanted it to be so.

 How would they look at him if the truth were to be revealed?

 The transport accelerated, plunging into the onrushing night.

  

 The speech of the three Wais administrators was so rapid, convoluted, and

 inflected that it was almost impossible for the translators the non-Wais wore to

 render it compre-hensible. Despite their agitated discursion, the trio of

 ornithorps retained their composure. To have exhibited exasperation in the

 presence of other species would have been, well, unrefined.

 "What reason can you have to call us here, away from our daily work?'' The Wais

 who spoke sported a fringed neckpiece of breathtaking elegance which served not

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 only as a testament to her importance but was ravishingly beau-tiful in its own

 right. The feathers which protruded from her flowing attire were of exquisite

 color and expertly groomed, as were those of her two male companions.

 The instant his translator finished, the S'van replied. "Evidence has recently

 come to light which suggests that the enemy is planning something

 extraordinary.''

 "Of what concern, pray tell, might Amplitur military intrigues be to us?"

 Concerned that in her haste to reach the meeting on time it might have slipped a

 finger-length too low, the administrator gently fluffed her neckpiece.

 The S'van withheld the comments which automatically came to mind when one found

 oneself dealing with the I Wais. "We have word that they are planning to mount

 an attack on one of the primary Weave worlds."

 Though they found the news as upsetting as would any civilized member of the

 Weave, none of the Wais reacted visibly. To have done so in front of aliens

 would have been considered unbearably gauche.

 “That is difficult to believe,'' said one of the male Wais finally.

 "Though controversy continues, the evidence seems ir-refutable."

 "Which unfortunate world is to be the target of this outrage?''

 "That we haven't been able to determine . . . yet." The S'van wished for a

 platform. He didn't like looking up at the Wais. Having to tilt his head back

 raised his beard off his chest and exposed the sensitive skin beneath. "Thanks

 to our informants we have been able to reduce the list of candidates to three.

 Tuo'olengg, Kinar, and . . . Ulalu-able."

 Very little could induce a Wais's neck feathers to spike and pupils to widen,

 but the S'van's announcement man-aged that accomplishment.

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 "How can this be?" So upset was the remaining male ornithorp that he nearly

 committed the unpardonable sin of misinflecting the interrogative. "Surely the

 Amplitur know from experience that an attack on any developed world would be

 soon surrounded and annihilated."

 "You'd think so." The S'van readily agreed. "That's why we've gone to such

 lengths to confirm the information we've received. If all these enemy

 preparations are simply in support of a feint, it's far and away the most

 elaborate one they've ever propagated. We can't take that chance. As the current

 Administrating Triumvirate of Ulaluable do you want us to take that chance?"

 The polyphonic Wais reply was as unanimous as it was harmonious.

 "That's what we thought your reaction would be." The S'van looked satisfied.

 "The Grand Council has deter-mined to implement exceptional security measures on

 all three worlds. If the Amplitur's purpose in this was to force us to

 reallocate scarce resources, then they've already ac-complished what they set

 out to do. You'll be given every-thing this quadrant's Command can spare."

 "What would possess the Amplitur to embark on an adventure with no chance of

 success?" the female mem-ber of the triumvirate sang bemusedly.

 "Obviously they think better of their chances." The husky voice of the Massood

 officer who'd accompanied the S'van was a sharp contrast to the mellifluous

 tones of the Wais. "Perhaps you have heard about the new fighters they have been

 using? The ones who hurt us so badly on Eirrosad?"

 "We have heard. While the Wais are noncombatants, we are not indifferent to the

 progress of the great con-flict."

 A half-hidden figure behind the Massood stepped for-ward. "If the Amplitur

 choose Ulaluable as their target, you'll have to be a damn sight less

 indifferent.''

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 Though not nearly as tall as the Massood, the Human officer towered over the

 S'van and Wais. Stocky and pow-erfully built, he sported a heavy mustache and

 long side-burns which curled toward his chin. Even as they went to

 great lengths to conceal their distaste for the primitive cosmetic affectation,

 the Wais instinctively drew back from] the massive primate.

 "This would be a lot easier if we knew which of the] three worlds they were

 going to hit, but we don't, so the | same defensive resources have to be

 allocated to each. Ulaluable gets no more than Kinar or Tuo'olengg. I prom-ise

 that we'll do our best for you, but I'm afraid you're going to have to issue a

 general alert. Besides the need to brief you, the governors of Ulaluable, that

 was our pur-pose in calling this meeting. I hope there won't be any panic."

 The slightly taller male replied condescendingly. "The Wais do not 'panic,'

 sir."

 "No," muttered the Massood under his breath. "They just freeze at the smell of a

 weapon."

 The female glared. "We will do our part. All necessary measures will be taken .

 . . insofar as a wholly civilized people can respond to such a threat, of

 course. As a cho-sen representative of the populace I assure you that you will

 have our full cooperation. We may not be able to 'kill,' but we can do much else

 in our own defense."

 The S'van hastened to try and lower his allies' emo-tional temperature. "We know

 the Wais do not fight. Re-member, I'm S'van. We do not fight, either." The,

 administrator seemed mollified.

 "The Council will appreciate any assistance you can render to the defending

 forces. Additional personnel are already on their way. Massood and . . .

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 Humans."

 Feathered heads dipped together, chittering softly. Again it was left to the

 senior female to speak. "You must be aware that Human combat troops have never

 been sta-tioned on Ulaluable, or for that matter any of the Wais worlds. It is

 not part of the Covenant of Agreement."

 Out of the corner of an eye the S'van saw the muscular Human stiffen slightly.

 However, he said nothing, exhib-iting a self-control not normally associated

 with his kind. He was a ranking officer, the S'van reminded himself, and

 intelligent enough to know that in such circumstances it was better to let a

 S'van do the talking.

 "All Human personnel will be assigned to and billeted at Important industrial

 and communications facilities. Cities and unnecessary contact with the general

 population will be avoided."

 "Suits us fine," the Human could not resist muttering.

 The male Wais who spoke affected not to hear the com-ment. "We are of course

 grateful for the assistance of all our friends and allies. It seems we are to

 have no choice in the matter anyway.''

 "On the contrary," said the S'van. "If you so desire, these additional defensive

 forces allocated to Ulaluable can instead be divided among the other threatened

 worlds."

 "That will not be necessary," the female hastily as-sured him. "You must

 understand that while you concern yourselves with matters military, it is left

 to us to deal with the delicate social fabric of our society."

 "I do understand." The S'van smiled behind his beard. Of all the Weave races,

 only the S'van utilized the smile more than Humans. "It is my hope that

 Ulaluable is not the target of the Amplitur."

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 The three ornithorps whistled agreement in unison, each musical exhalation

 pitched slightly differently from that of its neighbor. "We are obliged for your

 concern," the fe-male said, "and realize that extraordinary circumstances call

 for extraordinary measures. We gratefully accept the temporary stationing of

 additional Massood and Human soldiers in our soil."

 "Temporary," chorused her male associates.

 The Human officer continued to observe and listen in silence. He'd served as

 liaison to the "civilized" Weave races too long to allow their reactions to the

 presence of his kind to upset him. Save for the Massood and occa-sionally the

 S'van, the thanks Humans received for putting their lives on the line in defense

 of other species was in-different at best. He sighed resignedly. The Wais could

 not help the way they were. At such times the Human lot' could be a difficult

 one.

 They would provide ample material aid, but that was all. Once, he had seen a

 Wais, fortified with medication, through a tremendous effort of will actually

 lift and fire a small handgun before collapsing in a nauseated faint. It was an

 experience not likely oft to be repeated, even if Ulaluable was attacked. The

 defense of their world was up to him and his kind . . . and the Massood, of

 course. No getting around it. That was .the way the pulsar spun, he told

 himself.

 Silently he wished for the meeting to end. Someone had to serve as a liaison to

 the Wais, and he had been com-pelled to accept the role. That didn't mean he had

 to like it. Like the majority of his kind he had been trained as a soldier.

 Direct action suited him, diplomacy made him itch. He longed for reassignment to

 a combat unit. Even the sympathetic S'van was starting to get on his nerves.

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 Idly he fingered his service belt. Like his boots, the material of which it was

 fashioned was incredibly light, tough, attractive, and of Wais design and

 manufacture. That was what the Weave was about, he mused. Each spe-cies

 contributed according to its talents and abilities. Wais designed, Lepar

 carried, Hivistahm engineered, S'van held together, O'o'yan maintained, and so

 forth. Turlog thought, Humans and Massood slew.

 He comforted himself in the knowledge that the spe-cialty nature seemed to have

 assigned his kind was at least easy to understand.

 Chapter Eighteen

  

 The grim expression Ranji wore whenever he was com-pelled to leave his cabin

 discouraged even close friends from trying to talk to him, and helped to

 preserve his solitude during the long Underspace journey out from Cossuut.

 Everyone knew that as Field Unifer great re-sponsibilities devolved upon him. It

 was therefore only natural to assume that his attitude was a reflection of the

 serious inner contemplation that preceded battle. He was left alone.

 His isolation suited Ranji just fine. Had his companions known the real reason

 for his solemnity they would have been shocked and dismayed. Not only was he not

 deeply engrossed in preparing battlefield strategy; he was wholly absorbed in

 trying to find a means of avoiding combat altogether.

 There were too many times when he wondered why he was bothering to try. He was

 one man, one individual caught up in a millennia-old galactic conflagration that

 involved billions of intelligent beings. Events of prodi-gious import were in

 motion, and like litter on a wave he found himself helplessly swept up and

 washed along, to be pounded against whatever shore fate had in store for him.

 Not for the first time he found himself thinking that perhaps the best thing he

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 could do was simply try to pre-serve his own life and live it out as comfortably

 and un-obtrusively as possible.

 Only, he was repeatedly hammered by uneasy dreams, and visions of his sister

 slicing Human throats at the be-hest of shadowy, tentacular forms. Thoughts were

 not as easily avoided as friends.

 What could he do? They were about to attack a devel-oped Weave world largely

 populated by the ultracivilized, innocuous race known as the Wais. As the mere

 appear-ance of enemy troops was likely to paralyze the popula-tion, they would

 have to be defended by Massood and Humans. How could he, as Field Unifer, avoid

 participat-ing in battle and giving orders if not directly having a hand in the

 deaths of many of his own kind? Desperately seeking a means of avoidance, he

 found only bleak and inner despair.

 Time was running out. The invasion force was less than five days from the

 target. Preparations for touchdown had already begun. He might yet be spared

 contemplated ag-onies, he knew, for their landing shuttle might well be blown

 out of Ulaluable's sky by orbiting or land-based defenses, thus sparing him the

 need to make life-threatening decisions. His attitude toward such a quick and

 exonerating death had grown dangerously ambivalent.

 Perhaps worst of all, the truth gnawed at him like an insect struggling to

 escape its cocoon. He had returned to his people to give them knowledge, only to

 find himself unable to speak. The futility of his circumstances tor-mented him

 far worse than any prospect of dying.

 His colleagues saw the inner struggle mirrored in his expression and

 misinterpreted its origin to his benefit.

 He considered feigning mental collapse, seeking sur-cease in an inveigled

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 disgrace. But that would not preserve his brother, nor prevent his sister from

 being trained to follow after. There was simply no way to extend his soli-tude

 to those he loved. He would have to find another way.

 As attack preparations around him intensified, he redi-rected himself to the

 problem with ferocious application.

 It wasn't until the day before the fleet was to phase out of Underspace that he

 remembered the kindly Lepar, Itepu. Remembered his compassion and understanding.

 His had been a simpler view of the cosmos, basic and uncompli-cated. In such

 simplifications were certain virtues. He pondered those memories, trying to

 recall everything he and the Lepar had discussed during his half-forgotten

 jour-ney from Eirrosad to Omaphil.

 When the word came for all soldiers to don field armor and equipment, he was

 much eased in mind. He knew now what he was going to have to do. If it ended in

 death, then at least he would be spared the future tribulation of thinking.

 Those under his immediate command relaxed when they saw their Unifer stride

 purposefully into the landing shut-tle. Clearly the depth and extent of his

 hermetic contem-plation during the voyage out from Cossuut had amply prepared

 him for the forthcoming conflict. It boosted their morale accordingly.

 "Look at him." The recent graduate nudged his com-panion as they watched Ranji

 board the command sled. "Utterly self-possessed. He's ready."

 "I hear he's always like that." The young woman tracked the Unifer's progress

 admiringly. "You heard the story of how he handled himself on Eirrosad?"

 The man was checking the charge level on his stinger. "Never panicked, kept his

 head when everybody else was losing theirs. I'm glad we're in his group."

 "By the Purpose," said a much shorter Ashregan from nearby, "I'm just glad he is

 on our shuttle!"

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 They examined each other's armor locks and visors, ex-changed and rechecked

 weapons. Once the shuttle touched down on the Ulaluablian surface they would be

 thrust out-side and into a combat situation, where such checks would have to be

 performed, if at all, under arduous and possibly lethal conditions. Better to

 make certain seals were tight and weapons powered up now.

 It must have been something to see: a dozen immense starships suddenly and

 simultaneously materializing from Underspace just above the cloud layer of

 Ulaluable's blue-green globe. There was nothing present to witness the sight,

 however, except the alert sensors of the automatic! orbiting planetary-defense

 system, which responded anon.

 As ships dropped shuttles in the fashion of fecund invertebrates, on-board

 weaponry had some success in deal-ing with the cluster of orbiting

 hellaciousness. One ship | was destroyed by a self-guiding orbital mine, both

 erupt-ing in a flaming plume of metal, gas, and organic com-ponents. Seared

 vacuum momentarily blinded every instrument in the vicinity. Five other vessels

 were badly damaged by high-power, mirror-aligned particle beams.

 The rest unloaded their deadly cargo with admirable speed and dispatch.

 Metaloceramic crescents dove into the clouds and made their way to the waiting

 surface, where their con-tents spread out and sought cover with slick alacrity.

 Not every shuttle made it to ground. Some were oblit-erated by surface-based

 weapons. Others ran afoul of scrambling high-speed aircraft. But by the time the

 sur-viving starships retired to the protective astrophysical anonymity of

 Underspace, the greater portion of the battlegroup had successfully disembarked

 and dispersed. Now if Ulaluable's defenders chose to use heavy weapons on the

 invaders they would be putting at risk sensitive por-tions of the very world

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 they were supposed to be protect-ing.

 Ordinarily destruction or damage to half an attacking force's ships would be

 sufficient to bring an invasion to a halt, but not this time. There was too much

 at stake for the Amplitur to recall their ground forces, which after all had

 made it down largely intact. The components of the engagement had shifted

 surfaceward. Time to see what the Ashregan-led battlegroup could do.

 Ranji's shuttle landed hard in a grassy glade surrounded by extremely thin, tall

 trees, rattling both soldiers and equipment. The attenuated woods provided some

 cover from patrolling aircraft, as did the soot-colored clouds from which a

 light rain was falling. As troops rushed to disembark, the shuttle's crew stayed

 at the equipment which projected half a dozen ghost shuttles overhead, their

 purpose being to bemuse and distract enemy sensors.

 Ranji commanded slightly less than a thousand regular and modified Ashregan

 soldiers riding skids and floaters. They deployed themselves with gratifying

 speed, erecting camouflage and establishing a perimeter while engineers

 excavated a hole deep enough to conceal the shuttle. Maintained and defended by

 its own crew, it would serve as a field base, a point of reference, and, if need

 be, a means of final retreat.

 Their target was the control station of the principal power-distribution grid

 for the entire northern third of the planetary landmass. Like any other

 unavoidably unsightly industrial complex on a Wais world, it had been sited as

 far as practicable from the nearest population center.

 An intricate network of dams in the nearby mountains stored water for irrigation

 and hydropower. It would have been a simple matter to target them for

 destruction by land-based missiles, but that would require their replace-ment by

 the eventual victors. A much more sensible course of action involved the

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 incapacitation or better yet, the cap-ture of the complex that stored and

 distributed the power thus generated.

 If Ranji's group could capture the complex they would control the supply of

 energy for half the population of Ulaluable. Nor could the defenders blast them

 out without de-stroying the critical components of their own power grid. A

 successful assault on the center would weaken local com-munications, industry,

 and transportation significantly.

 The Wais were little better prepared psychologically to deal with an attack than

 if they had not been warned at all. True to the claims of their chosen

 administrators, they did not panic: they merely shut themselves away in their

 homes and waited for defenders or assailants to triumph. In the sparsely

 populated regions where the invaders landed, it was more difficult to pretend

 nothing so unciv-ilized was taking place. Some citizens fled, others barricaded

 themselves in their places of work, and a small portion went catatonic.

 Of all the Weave races, the Wais were perhaps the least well equipped to deal

 with the awkward reality of contentious violence. The very thought of their

 exquisitely coiffed I garden world being subjected to onerous combat was enough

 to induce severe trauma in the more sensitive of them. It was left to

 Ulaluable's Hivistahm inhabitants to maintain the abandoned planetary

 infrastructure and assist the defenders in the movement of troops and supplies.

 The second group of invaders made swift progress to-ward the capital city's

 communications center until they came up against a small but well-entrenched

 cluster of determined Massood. As the defenders were in possession of advanced

 surface-to-air weaponry, the attackers' skids I and floaters were unable to

 detour to their target.

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 Thus bogged down, the invaders were forced to take up secure positions of their

 own, which gave the besieged Massood time to call in reinforcements from the

 city. This included a flying squad of Humans, who threw themselves against the

 Ashregan with utter disregard for their own safety, making life miserable for

 the Unifers in charge of the attack by reducing their careful timetables to

 chaos.

 In spite of the fact that the majority of actual combat was restricted to

 obscure or outlying areas, there were ca-sualties among the civilian population

 . . . from heart fail-ure, shock, and cerebral hemorrhage. Wais physicians

 (those who were not themselves paralyzed by circum-stance) were kept busy

 tending to their own kind.

 Soratii's team successfully wrested control of Ulalu-able's northernmost

 shuttleport from its defenders. If they could hold the place, it would allow for

 faster and safer resupply from orbit. As their first important conquest, the

 achievement cheered every member of the invading forces.

 Ranji's group received the news as they were skimming in attack formation toward

 their designated target, their skids and floaters tearing along just above the

 ground at maximum combat speed. Since their attention was concentrated on

 sensors and weapons systems, their cheers were silent ones.

 Once more those close to him took his silence and oti-ose expression for quiet

 determination and resolve. It would have shaken their confidence not only in

 their Unifer but in themselves had they been able to see the pain and

 uncertainty that raged within him.

 Tormented by unceasing doubt and confusion, Ranji left necessary decisions to

 subordinates like Weenn and Tour-mast. In the absence of direction from above

 the group's flexible command structure allowed them to skillfully guide the

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 battlegroup through rugged mountains toward its target. Ranji's continued

 silence as they neared the high, narrow valley which had been selected as a

 staging area for the actual attack began to concern them, but they said nothing.

 By now their Unifer was famed for his moodiness.

 Underground lines fed power from dozens of different sources to the main

 distribution center, which lay on a fertile plain between the nearest

 conurbation and the mountains. It was decided to attack late at night. Despite a

 thousand years of military development, ordinary dark-ness still offered

 soldiers a certain amount of cover which strategists and planners were pleased

 to take advantage of at every opportunity. The absence of notable geological

 features in the vicinity of the target rendered a stealthy approach impossible

 anyway.

 Ranji found himself hoping that the majority of the complex's defenders were

 Massood. From what he knew of the psychological makeup of the Wais, actual

 operations were probably being run by local Hivistahm.

 Any formal defenses were probably of recent installa-tion, since, like any other

 civilized Weave world, Ulalu-able would have been ill prepared for a serious

 assault. In that respect resistance might be less well organized than it had

 been on Koba or Eirrosad. The downside was that they had to continue to advance,

 since they as yet con-trolled little territory and therefore had precious few

 places to retreat to.

 He didn't doubt that the complex's defenders were pre-pared to extend greetings

 to any uninvited visitors. Since sheer cliffs and steep gorges offered some

 protection even from modern weapons, they would anticipate an assault from that

 vicinity rather than the open plains of the south, though they would doubtless

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 be alert to an attack from any direction. Local geology allowed little leeway

 for subtle strategies.

 The outcome would be determined by whose fighters were the more skilled, the

 more determined, and by what sort of weaponry the defenders had managed to put

 in place.

 Whoever they were, boldness was not their hallmark. When Soratii's squads first

 sortied from the foothills they met intense fire and promptly withdrew. Had

 Ranji been I in charge of the complex's defense he would have followed | up with

 immediate pursuit and counterattack, if only to test his attackers' strength and

 resolve. Those inside the distribution grid's perimeter did no such thing. In

 classical fashion they chose to sit behind their screens and sensors and weapons

 and wait for the next hostile move.

 Probably not many Humans, then, he decided, feeling a little better about the

 situation. He smiled relievedly, suddenly realized what he was doing, and

 glanced around the interior of the command skid to see if anyone had noticed the

 unnatural, un-Ashregan expression. No one had. Everyone was concentrating on

 work or conversation. In the future he would have to be more careful. Assuming

 he had one. And if he did, what would it be as?

 If naught else the long journey outward from Cossuut had given him ample time to

 think. He had arrived on Ulaluable with a vague notion of what he wanted to do.

 All that was lacking now was a means for carrying it out without getting himself

 or any of his friends killed while integrating his intentions into the little

 matter of the battle he was expected to direct. Surely a simple enough task.

 The practical knowledge he'd acquired on Kobe, Eir-rosad, and even Omaphil

 enabled him to probe the enemy's defenses with few casualties. Though hastily

 installed, they were substantial and deadly. Soratii's peo-ple encountered and

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 reported the presence of photic charges, heat- and shape-seeking missiles, and

 intelligent explosives, in addition to an aurora dome which would instantly

 short out the components of any approaching ve-hicle, not to mention microwaving

 its inhabitants. The complex was going to be difficult to approach, much less

 capture.

 In the attackers' favor was the fact that on a civilized world such

 installations were not constructed with an eye toward defense. Most of the

 distribution complex was lo-cated aboveground, buildings and facilities arranged

 in an aesthetically tasteful but exposed star pattern with typi-cally lush Wais

 gardens burgeoning between. The defend-ers would also be hampered by the need to

 keep the grid functioning while simultaneously fighting off any assailants.

 Ranji knew that in order to have any impact he would have to move fast. As

 Ulaluable's defensive command identified the invaders' targets, they would

 proceed to rush reinforcements to those areas. He had no intention of be-ing

 stuck in the mountains for a long siege. Whatever he finally decided to do would

 be executed with speed.

 Exhilarating, this independence of mind, he mused. Ex-hilarating, and addictive.

 Occasional missile exchanges produced a lot of noise and flame but no serious

 damage to either side, as anti-missile weaponry obliterated projectiles in

 midnight. Beam projectors were held in reserve, since the use of such ad-vanced

 devices simultaneously exposed their positions to enemy sensors and return fire.

 The extended, cautious firefight that occupied the day-light hours witnessed

 much sound and fury but nothing in the way of advance or retreat. The Massood

 and Hivistahm defenders soon realized that their attackers wished to capture and

 not destroy the distribution complex, and were able to conduct their defense

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 accordingly.

 The slightly sloping plain that halted at the base of the mountains was sliced

 by several mostly dry gullies, watercourses designed by nature to drain the

 foothills in the rainy season. An intent Ranji had begun studying them through

 magnifiers from the moment of his group's ar-rival. Now he left his position

 near the front of the com-mand skid and moved to stand next to his adjutant,

 Birachii.

 "I'll need a floater." He poked at the luminescent, hov-ering representation of

 what in ancient times would have been called the battlefield, his finger tracing

 one particular topo-graphical feature until it came to rest among several

 pin-points of blue light. "It looks like this one squad's made some real

 progress. I'm going to check out their status."

 "Your pardon, Ranji?" Birachii eyed him uncertainly.

 "I said, I'm going out. To have a look around."

 The sub-Unifer hesitated. "I ask excusal for making exception, Ranji, but you're

 the group commander. If you'll just tell me what you want, there are many on

 board or outside who are much more expendable than yourself and who'd be glad to

 go in your stead."

 "Thanks, Birach, but I have to do this myself. See, I'm not just going out to

 survey the terrain. I have it in mind to reconnoiter an idea." He turned.

 "Jhindah-ier will be in charge until I get back." Birachii didn't try to hide

 his surprise. Though a perfectly competent officer, Jhindah-ier was a member of

 the pure Ashregan contingent and not one of the modified.

 "It's bad procedure." Ranji found his friend's concern touching. "And not in

 keeping with the teachings of the Purpose."

 "Birach, ever since we were children we've been noted and promoted for doing the

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 unexpected. I'm just taking another step along the same old trail. Don't worry.

 I just want to confer with the squad leader. I have every inten-tion of

 returning to supervise the rest of the attack. Now stop mooning at me like a

 lovesick youngster and requi-sition that floater."

 Chapter Ninteen

  

 Intelligent shells dueled in the airspace between the moun-tains and the

 distribution complex, darting and feinting, occasionally annihilating each other

 in spectacular bursts of high explosive. Others released enervating gases, which

 were as quickly rendered harmless by receptor-seeking neutralizing bonders.

 Rapid-mutating biological agents had not as yet been utilized, since they had an

 awkward habit of infecting those who employed them as readily as they did those

 they were intended to incapacitate.

 Set afire by explosives, much of the flora proximate to the combat zone blazed

 hellishly around Ranji as his floater shot down the canyon he'd chosen. The

 coniferous forest which coated the rugged mountain slopes had been turned into a

 crackling, snapping inferno. He ignored the confla-gration. The lightweight

 field armor he wore kept him cool and comfortable while supplying him with

 fresh, filtered air.

 Just ahead a giant tree exploded from the heat, show-ering him with flaming

 splinters. The floater rocked slightly but stayed on course as he continued to

 descend, hugging the bottom of the canyon tight enough for the air-repulsion

 vehicle to send droplets flying from the debris-laden rivulet that coursed

 muddily below.

 Then he was out of the foothills, screaming through the steep-sided gully. Smoke

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